I’ve been scrambling the thesaurus for its tangerine clouds,
trying to whip solutions from the dust into truth.
Instead a mess of stars and gusts send hinges daywards
while all answers adhere to the flanks of trailing ships.
And all nouns collect behind the frowning ether
furnishing the shadowed rooms, dreary with their suggestions.
Sitting here, watching and scouring the silence,
the days keep slipping their skins, becoming new words.