Tiresome, Irksome Expectations

Batteries unload their magnets
in my light saber
forced poem of force
written with what I don't know.

German boys sit on the next table
waiting for the same thing I wait
a better language
one in which
all sorts of things
can be defined
can be described
one that doesn't sound
like the scratching of blackboards
with bare nails.

Its tiresome and irksome this search
especially in tropical wastelands
without much music of their own
the search of poetry
by notes, rhythm and tones
perhaps that language is her
poetry itself.