When do you whisper these well-formed words,
The thought-strung wishes your mind made?
They’ve been dancing round a life-numbed brain
Awaiting a chance to alight.
Why won’t you hear their fluttering feelings,
Their pleadings, in soft-spoken thoughtspeak?
Why turn an eager mental ear-hear
To angry-loud worldshout wailing?
Who else will gather these bent-broken fairies,
Wearying, slowing; near-dropping?
Their language extinct, their toe-dust unsparkled
Your brainstem a graveyard of art.