[insert title here] (after thinking of one)

***

not every thought is destined for

setting down firmly in

carefully selected words

trimmed and pruned for

devastating effect, growth,

titanic impact; and though they

cry out for enumeration, explication,

most will remain unspoken,

never leaving generating home — pent,

rapt, glued to muted televisions, slouching

permanently, sadly down on

overworn inadequate couches, and will only always

wonder what it might be like

to have a voice, to echo in

canyons and open spaces, to be

trapped by pinna, resonated by

malleus and incus, to shake loose

the untilnow passive fluids in

semicircular canals, and to at last

electrify in a cochlea, transmit through

axons and dendrites into web of

gray matter, and there translate into

the quickening pulse of

someone else’s heart —

***

Best i can muster right now. Forgotten but not gone.  – r.e.w.