The cruel letter-box
Breeds only anguish from being vacant.
The malevolent telephone
Brings only grief from remaining silent.
Ink dried-up making my words still-born.
Connections gone loose between heart and hand.
Still I scribble on this page, saying nothing.
Al, you promised…
Terry, you said …
Oliver, you offered…
I lose my footing in a swirling black hole.
Seconds, days and months go unfazed
I can’t swim and slowly drown…
clairem --- end of 1990