Know the words are inside this cage.
I lost the sense to see them,
the way they curve and capture letters in one body,
onto the page
explode out of the prison,
into complete openness. It's gone.
The poetic game of hide-and-seek,
reach down throats and force them.
Words have just turned into snores,
snores, words, snores,
words are snores voices are snores
gazing in quotation boxes over my barely living heads.
I envelope the dusk and sit still, longing for Better Days,
writing all over the page
when your hair didn't curl that way.
When poems were said with warmth,
not caged displays of tolerance.