Rough Draft

Here's a rough beyond rough draft of a poem I'm working on.

Illusions

Loving an idea, a theory
Like loving the dolls in plastic packaging
Well-groomed,
well-versed, well-dressed,
well- adjusted, well- prepared, and well-balanced

Cohabitating with shadows, shells
Beckoning them to life
Pulling strings and speaking words
As they whisk around with their heavy hollow heads

In smiling faces and warm hands there’s chance
Chance they’ll open the shiny paper of soul to find a plain white piece of paper
And me scratching hollow cavern bareness

Silhouetted ideals, they call to me
In crowded rooms, to silence
And in the car, convincing me to press ignore to stop the ringing
Grasping the blackness of elusive desert mirages with naked hands,
Until I know alone.