A Poem Speaks

I am poem and I want to be read.
I am words - wrapped lightly around an inky flow
smoothly sticking to the page.
I am paper – waiting for the marks, neat, scribbled, crossed out.
I am pen – plastic, gold plated, cheap, expensive
Longing to be touched by hand.
I am hand - clawed over, spotted, clutching, grasping.
I am finger – knobbly, creased, be-ringed, tapping and waiting.
I am writer’s callus – indented, reddened, hardened and rare.
I am blank.
I am blank.
I have gone, run out, evaporated, disappeared.
No synonym can call me back.
No poem today.
I am unready.