Today

Today,
my tongue is sandpaper,
thick

scratching
the dry
insides of my mouth

searching
for the right words
to offer my calloused fingertips

so that they may
play with them

mold them to the tune
that has come
so easily

the rain has washed away
coherence

it's down there in the drain,
it must be

otherwise where else
could it have gone?

I'd get down
on my hands and knees to look,
but I don't want to get my jeans dirty.