Wherever you go, take heaps of notes
Here at 31,000 feet,
jammed inside an aluminum can,
render the anonymity of air.
Dreams are full of words.
Sentences warp what is written.
Converse with anyone who’ll listen.
Ask, what is a South wind?
Ramble to gather substance.
Hold the confession, the indulgence.
Say less than you mean. You’ll never be first-class.
(You are no Whitman, no Ginsberg, no Plath.)
Don’t give up now.
Worship verbs that slice silence.
Notice the beach, grey and strange.
Never abandon resonance.
Inscribe the stillness, soft and crumbly.
Language is faith. Best to trust chaos
with your singular nescience.