The Meaning Of The Word Poem by Ayn Timmerman

Shake me-
empty gourd with
dried out seeds,
something
missing the point,
but it drove right in.

In the same state,
for the time being-
distances reel it in.
I'm moving but to where?

Lonely-
does not good
but a letter?
Where are you?
Here I sit,
a new place,
but yet still it is all alike.

So I hope
to accopmlish
anything.
I'm down.
Trod on over-
the mute form
on the floor;

easily ignored,
but has much to say.
You stole the key,
and now I'm going.