Poem

In the poetry of my friends,
there's
an unraveling:

a hole
punched to be filled with
questioning words.

And what is emptiness
for, after all? To
fill, fill.

In each block of white and black
I eat words
and words eat me like cake

wrap around my throat
sweetly pick at my pallete
so my mouth will open.

What excitement it is to read.
How restless we've become
to breathe thicker air.