I invite useful feedback for this poem?

I cannot write a poem

while sitting on this wallet -

no license in its leaves

If only the weight

pinning shut its catcall streetmouth

would silence its burden of tongues -

insistences of identity; banners of won worth

hungry echoes of consumption

soak into buttock, bloodstream, belief

about the day beyond the day,

the day I'm trying to have.

What of diesel in airways, what

of fall insect songs

softly scraping away all

I once knew, silver linings,

scars, smoke?

What of the alien sun

mixing up its project's palette,

fading clothes, tanning hides until

we come out in a uniform wash,

our hangups flushed

our cotton clean

I can't pen any of that

upon a page blazing my unfamiliar eyes shut,

ink blotting oblivion everywhere.