Falling Short (Poetry)

I am not a writer — yet
I am still struggling with words —
they won’t lie flat
upon the page
or even sit
up straight.

Too lazy in the dream
of telling what they think
they know of life
they lean
and slouch
and fall
far short
of all their fancy promise —

those echoes of
lost nights
the vision dancing pale
its fineness worn away
to threadbare rags
left hanging
unravelling
the story
with no
name.