New Years have yet to bring new tears for loved ones lost, and those that are here

As for now
I shoot from the hip 4:54 am
Poet Denizen in search for an impetus
To right this writing in
Against the injustice I have done
to you

This dance so far has been fetish, on tippy toes within line(s), without recourse to equal footing for

You are commodified in text
and between it
Laced with my voice

And who will call for you?

Who? As you are destined to be recycled
in myth
and in fact
For a matter of fact I am relegated to languish of these language games played in bounds,
though I will myself to be boundless
Ordering myself to distort Jimi-like standing next to fire, dis-orienting myself to a disorder in order to get to you

All I know is that there is little poetry between these lips
and very little at the tips of these fingers, let alone this heart
where enthroned
your name

I have yet to utter it?