Return of the Unshaven Poet

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Is this any way to return?

Words marching through the rusty pen

Like notes through a musical cadaver

Abracadabra: Smile, a word becomes a phrase

Gentle rhythm simulates an evening rain

The poem searches for a razor

To shave off the dust of un-groomed years,

A vest to complete the literary wardrobe

Where will it find shoes to match?

This new-found fever for poetic flavour

Follows a thousand-day linguistic fast

Where no words were known to flourish

Emerging from behind the ink well

Greyer, yet more agile,

To what melody will he sing?