Pencil dangle, teasing blank space,
Lines mix with lines entwined
With lines of endless nothing.
Blank skies, dull horizons
Inspire me not, for I am not, something I can’t be.
Gaps in time disappear,
End of life appears,
But not a word of summary.
Words escape their fragile form,
And warm the grey place;
Space beyond the eyes but before the soul,
The knot of the tongue where words reign
Pensive and unformed.
I want to write about something I’m not.
But I can’t; I’m not.