I Find Erasures

I can’t find the right words when you’re all “good-morning!” with the naps.

I listen to the wisp and the donkey.

I answer the phone to induce a “hello.”

I touch the wires of domesticity — dead cold.

I hear the monstrous pabulum of rusted weathervanes.

I, the compass diver.
I, the newscaster wherryman.

I continue to search for sense in this world.

I find artifacts, letterings and saleability.

I don’t find sense.

I find erasures.

What I’m Reading:

Then you realize the horror is existence itself.

— Dave Eggers / Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?