when he walks into the room,

there is no room,

only people

there are no people,

only faces and names

only voices and thoughts

his nonexistent pen

glides across the convolutions of his brain

old grains, cash crops, and dried grass

free words years later

sand of the Hudson

sifted into patrol boots of California

handsome plucked out boys,

blockaded by a publisher

won't tarnish a thought