there is a hole in my head - must be there - where words

leave secretly and turn into vapour, a silky air, an oily

breeze; they squeeze on through and don't come back

(though sometimes they do) but mostly they waft and

visit the world without me. (they don't need me, see?)

i spend days hunting with care and not so. and like a

dream, they hover where i can just, just see them float

easy and free. and they certainly do not need me.