Voice from the Void

stir words
like alphabet soup
even if they get soggy
poet in beret proclaims
with glued smile and eyes covered in shadows
jumble them around a bit more, leave enough space
to breathe. and don’t create lines
 
of the moon, a field of flowers, packages festooned with gold bows
a pink and peach colored sunset, the hush of evening
and don’t write about a lonely room
where dust lingers, lovers pirouette 
and emails hum with expectation
she says don’t think of tears or rain. and no one wants lines 
zigzagging fast railroad tracks, too straight, too formulaic
space is beautiful, white and wide.
 
just jumble those words around,  poet proclaims
smile a little inverted. jumble holding pill pain, soothed, blood, sliced knife, I am, body, deflate
star, night,
and again
sliced, happy, body, night, pain, soothe, knife
knife, pill body, night, soothe, pain, sliced, blood
lots of space breathing

 the poet strides away, gluing her smile
tilting beret with desperation
she tucks the moon and stars beneath her turtleneck
where no one sees 
reciting her creed, her clickety-clack steps broken lines
space stares up between words, a
wet wasteland