An Ode to No-One

Like complaints, like red wine stains
this is an ode to no-one

a song to sticky, heavier items that
leave a mark, left, right or centered

this is an ode to vacancy, to space
that remains uninhabited even when it is

sullen with the songs of two-year-olds
or husky with the sound of sirens and wailing

this is a tune from here, to elsewhere
from elsewhere to here we learn of the many

possible routes closed before our eyes
all it takes is a kick in the head, a kick

in the stomach to feel the wind gushing
from the windpipes that whistled a legend

of a mill standing on top of a mountain
unable to know the end of the wind

this is a sonnet in disguise broken down
to the early bits of baby-talk, to the harder

bits of pillow-talk, a note to sleeping alone
in proper rooms or even in train stations

without coffee or companion to wake you
up. this is the state of no-one, encompassing
the rest of those who
have someone