{ The Heaviest Pen }

I have practiced, perfected  my walk, my talk  rainy streets strolled  windy mountains mastered  sunny forests foraged  digested  by animal teeth, animal guts claws and paws and jaws  raw red meat right off the bone  a good day a good way to die until  late night lights go out  reflected from  a sky too bright  to hunt by  while the telephone curls up mute like the city's lips, just like  your lips, your hands,  your eyes not defiant  not antagonist but gracefully blank  as if nothing  in this world ever had anything  to do with me.