They constantly want inside
takers disguised as networkers
giving me something I don’t need
just so they can. I don’t want them.
I crave holing, gathering up my wits
acute, incisive, slipping out my ears.
Who can write with so much chatter?
so much irrelevant noise, never ending
polluting the pristine powder of ideations
pure and unsullied, untouched and virginal?
There, freshness whisks, tucked away, shiny
bright and ready to reflect the sun of its making.