Guess I’m not
Up to snuff
As a man
Whose words
Precede him

By the page
Which keeps on
Selling
What clever phrase
Is done

And worse
Than staying blank
Like an old
And tired
Adage

With relevance
Fairly jaded
From its meaning
Sought
Too hard

When pain
Is best expressed
Through the empty
Space
In margins

And breaks
Between each
Sentence
Are this gift
God never grants

Where expression
Loses wind
From that verse
I keep
Repeating

Knowing lines
Without their image
Is the proof
Of dwindled
Speech

Craving stories
Among thoughts
Mixing feelings
Dear
And varied

Near my heart
So often spoken
Every poem
Is just
Dull.

– J. Pigno