empty like a pair of shoes

empty
like a pair of shoes
hanging from an overhead wire

dry heaves of language
like i've puked up everything
i ever had to say
but can't admit i'm finished now.

i'm finished.
there. i said it.

i have nothing to write. maybe i'm
old. or stable. or happy more or less.
words no longer come to me
unwelcome guests swarming my sleep
hijacking my car
as i drive home from work.
they lurk instead
in dark corners i have
learned not to tread
they drift aimless snow
they know exactly what they know
nothing more. they do not roar
like oceans, whisper like streams
they have gone out in search of dreams
while i stay home and nap
before the television set.

if this is a poem
then let it be known
as my last one. let these
pinched and grudgeful words
go free
so many long-caged birds
reaching for the sky while i
watch silently.

let this pose
of resigned indifference suffice.
let ice form a clear crystal skin
diamond hard and thin
over the misshapen curve
of my eye.