The Vessel
My voice is a hollow vessel
where words spiral down
into a whirling dust storm
and exit dirty and unwanted
as if riding on the hooks
of some God-forsaken 120 degree desert.
No specific value has ever been
assigned to the words
that stick in my throat
and always leave like
a mumbled mishmash-
a jar of miscellaneous buttons
with threads pieces
hanging on in disbelief.
A lone vowel has gone off
like a disciplined child-
her pink mary jane's scruffing
the barren sidewalk with utter disdain.
Consonants drift and drown
into a muddled pond
overgrown with hanging algae.
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