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.