Fain

I would like to spend my days
With no one to talk to me
That wants this word in my mouth.

But I don’t have the right tools.

A squirrel will lose its lungs, if
You dare to sit at the foot
Of its tree, right on the roots.

I’ve been as mad as that squirrel.

We don’t have words since we’re smart—
We’re smart since we have the words.
This goes for all of our tools.

Nor was the day built in Rome.