Drifting

i find myself

reaching

for the words

the words themselves

evasive at best

hover above and around

baffling mosquitoesque motes

flitting in and beyond

shadows

ahead and behind

and i find

a dull sharpness

silky, slippery

a keen softicity

a sandpaper sneer

the lost and the near

and the words

that i do manage

to catch

pierce

my hands

my glands

my heart

my smart

my whole

my soul

they are like

jagged jigsaw pieces

sharp of both edge

and intent

each edge barbed

each intent

flaccid

each barb poisoned

and masturbation

becomes

the automaton waving

of a spit sodden flag

at the floor