in this vacuous world the air is pulled

from these lungs like a scream on a string

a whirlygig’s motion without purpose

other than to click and clack in the wind

as winter branches break against branches

with a self-flagellating destruction

my words flail against themselves in anger

searching for a simplicity not there

I’ve desired to speak since I was a child

but have been hesitant to raise my voice

above the churning storm outside the door

the constant turmoil conspires to control

like a hand at my throat each syllable

until all I could say is ground to dust

(September 26, 2018)