I couldn’t get my inspiration in gear today so I rewrote a poem from a few years ago. It seemed better when I changed it a little.

I Will Sing You A Silent Song

Where is my joy?

In the quiet songs

deep in the pattern of wood grain.

Talk is my fear.

Words are ripped from my thoughts

by idiot devils

shredding of bits with their jabbering claws.

When I talk,

The music is no longer

in a night full of cricket buzz,

Fire crackle,

your hand just touching the back of my neck.