Talk

I watch the waves describe themselves. Or try to:
Rising up, almost to the point of orgasm,
Just to crash back down before reaching their meaning.
I understand them though. My tongue is one such wave.

My lips crack, and impenetrable distances rush in.
It takes so long. I am coming from so far away.
I travel thousands of miles to deliver a word
Because my mouth is desert as far as the eye can see.

I wait. But scraps of burning newsprint are all
That arrive. The word itself is full of holes
And crumbles en route into delicate flakes
Which dissolve like ash in the river of my voice.