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.


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