The day is my enemy.
The day is empty. And it must be filled with words.
The night is empty. And it must be filled with words.
My head is filled with words.
My heart is filled with words.
My soul is words and silence.
My ears buzz, alive and relentless.
The emptiness, the hole that words cannot fill
But still the words are shoveled into the grave that cannot be filled
You cannot, I cannot cover the corpse
We can only discuss it, our autopsy.
And hope, hope the sun will not burst it open.
Its rancid light and heat against our labor
Only will writing give me relief from the emptiness of day and night
Only writing will muffle the hornets in my ears
My soul is words and silence.
My only prayer is the Passover in silence
upon the things we cannot speak.
The night my friend.
