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First-Person Personal
By Sy Roth

Here adrift wrapped in a coat of heebeejeebies
Fearful of using the first-person personal
Masking it instead by holograms of itself,
Playful non-entities cavorting among the semi-living.

Used to squirrel the words away like nuts now dormant in a tree’s hollow
Used to look for them wherever they could be found tail-fluttering into the hollow
Liked the slippery sound of them as they glissaded off a silent tongue
Dangled them before hungering nonentities like low lying fruit

Their future use, buried treasure, gleaming like cold stars in a vast firmament.
Unemployed laborers eared, waiting for them to scissor-jump into a cold lake 
Befuddled the inattentive of their existence when readied
Finally, to spring into action and gut them with their rapier wit.

Not this un-notable vessel wrapped in this veneer of corpus colusum 
They won’t dare come out of the shadows at this stage
They are muted heiroglyphs, attempting to grab at the fruit
That stare back in disbelief from their hidey-holes after vacationing far too long.

They’re toying with their elusive selves while the world has grown quite deaf
To the speech they could have generated
Metaphors they could have been imagined
Trapped in brains flooded with desiccant, afloat in hoary-icicled valleys.

The words are now muted and elusive
They bellow for release,
Walked across the bridge of tears
No more to paint the world in umbers and lilac.

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