There Is No Voice To Find

There is no voice to find.
Poets flit between long-past
and will-continue poetry.
Some poets can do "believe"
because they have a rule book:
Language Plays,
or something like that.
Surrounded by mirrors, I hear
Past and Future copulate.
Why must you work so fast?
Knowing that something
will aways be missing,
I love that folks trouble
with thinking all the time.
Desparate for wholeness, let's be
content with this moment of unity.