What am I
When I am not a thumbnail
A jumble of pixelated parts?
What are my words
When they escape from my mouth
To be deleted?
I am skin freckled and pale,
Eyes tired and red,
Lips dry and fingers hangnailed.
I am stomach full of four cups of sloshing coffee
Brain full of sixteen hours nonstop groggy
And those eight empty ones
And that empty mug
And that empty heart when I feel lonely because I’m so afraid you won’t like the real
I am words poured out of an open window in the summertime,
Evaporating hiss on the scalding sidewalk before you can say
I am words falling like snow on a metropolis
Melting slush into the muddy street before you can say