The Poetry Society

i'm just a voice in a box with a hundred words to live,

spending my life with every thought spoken.

words that flicker like a flutter of mayfly wings.

dashing from origin to full stop as the genetics

of language unravel themselves, washing into

a pool of words and swirling arabesques,

royal rhyme, terza rima, little iambic whirlpools.

open the box, let me go, let me soar on a lark song

i will be your voice, i will sing for you alone.

when i stop writing myself i will become a fossil

all pressed between layers of brown paper.

now all my words are spent, life expired

and still no name.