Never Have I Ever
by Cam M. Roberts
No sir, No ma’am,
I can’t say that I’ve called on the spirits to help my cause,
and to take things even further, I’m almost sure
that I’ve never
spoken every thought
into existence – the epitome
of my desires – with conviction,
with words out of thin air, except on the off chance
the morning would gold foil through
the window in the style
of il conformista –
I remember those shadowy stripes.
The slits of half-closed blinds
laid bare across lovers – And now, I write.
Seldom do I ever notice the majority of silence, and it’s quite rare
for me to feel so inflated, as if I belong
to the law of diminishing returns,
accessible, and yet not given a second thought –
Significance has an off-season.
Convection of mutterings
do come to me – stirred-up, spit-ridden, and fibrous as dust –
surrendering like a fuel source,
It’s as ready as a Valkyrie,
and sails steadier than turbines to the wind,
I often see it:
The deus ex machina of day.
Some may consider it a waste –
but they will never say it is a secret.