How to make sense
in a world neglecting
crayons. I need paper
please that white blank paper
is vital
so much is vital
so much is vital
so much is missing.
If I cannot make sense
(and I cannot buy it)
then I must steal
sense. Take it with my chalk
hands, leave finger outlines
on the black velvet feel the curtains swirl
so like a dog’s ear.
But to steal sense
must mean that sense exists
in some faucet, somewhere;
but if the taps are dry? if
the plumber is dead?
How then to steal sense
in a world neglecting
crayons?
If I cannot steal sense
If I cannot make sense
(and I cannot buy it)
then I must ask for
sense. Hold the rust-streaked
microphone to my chapped lips
and cough twice; feeling the hot air
bounce back into my sunburned
cheeks.
The response
is a long echo
my name over and over and over
swimming against the clammy cave walls
sticking to my hair like
lint from a dryer. To ask who
for sense?
If I cannot ask for sense
If I cannot steal sense
If I cannot make sense
(and I cannot buy it)
then I must simply ask
sense. Extend my skin
with palms rocket up and ask.
Not for
Not for
Not for
Just ask.