The Company of Paper

My heart ticks and tocks.

The flutters in my stomach begin

To form rocks in the essence

Of my narrowed gut

And I breathe in an airless breath

As the scented candle in my room

Mitigates the effluvium of loneliness.

I lift my fingers to the bookends that hold

My life together with paper, pens, and

Words I repeat again in realisation.

That's right my lovely dearies, how can

I ever forget Roethke's gasping turtle,

Wishing to cross through rubble,

Or Burns' meadow mouse stampeding

By itself to make a nest for winter?

What to make of the road that Gibson had tread?

Or Wordsworth's cloud upon seeing daffodils?

I forget to remember that I write in solitude.

Where there is quiet, there are thoughts heavier than

Metal, louder than music, carried by soundless tune

And I remember to always forget that we, as people,

Die from bitter loneliness.