My tongue’s turned slack and placid
from spouting the same old adages
There are sparse and absent thoughts
that’re nothing I haven’t heard before
They drift around inside my head
like ghosts haunting an empty homestead
Still
I feel
this space can be of use
But I’m in need of a substitute
There’s a vacancy in my rhetoric
a position for something more prolific
if you can pick up from where I left
go ahead
take up residence in my eloquence
There’s a job opening if you want it
a chance to be linguistically effective
if you reckon you can do your best
be my guest
I’ve said everything that can be said.
The Inkfinger Entries 