Misfit

I am usually
a prim and proper
noun, standing tall
in every sentence –
no tittles or cross strokes
reaching the height of
my definition –

but some days are different:

the paragraphs are tight
they don’t leave room
for any subject
I cite,
not even in the space
of indentations

so I linger
without transition

between margins
and sometimes
I feel

my letters
disassemble,

their eyes
zone out
or maybe
well up with tears

finials
taper even more
becoming invisible

legs and arms start to
wilt
leaving blotches of ink
on the text intact

I feel the irrelevance
of me

I definitely feel
the irrelevance
of me

juxtaposed

with the contents of a rule book
that I never really understood.

Just expunge me, please.
Paint over me thickly
with the most concealing
whiteout.