i am a poet

without a poem
other people’s words stream through me
displacing mine
in the hollow that is being
no words reverberate
the way once they clamored to be heard
clambering over each other like puppies
to the top of the heap
and i long for them
i have a kneading need
for them to rise
keen above the keening
to burst through the cacophony
in my head
to be distilled into a  pin-drop symphony