To the lovely Logophile

I am no silent reader,
for I can hear no sound

In the cold dispassionate voyage
where lips are stilled and words abound

That are ground down to a grist
for one that mills about the page

Waiting for music to somehow rise
when it’s otherwise engaged

Unmelodious and misbegotten
in the silent scanning mind

Realize then, what you’ve forgotten
how you were told, to erase the lines

Now, hear the music in all that’s spoken
not barked on barren, broken ground

Where wordless, the famished poverty of
language, starving naked is found

Rather, languish, guilt free
in that childlike glut of dream

Where words that hurt
did truly choke

And words that felt you,
screamed.