October Poem 48: Poetry as Playing with Fire

I write poetry to chisel faces

Out the stone emotion of words. I

Use the grain of the stones to chip away at the

Language with flint and steel until sparks fly.

Until heat sparks flame in the tender of

Verse. To burn down the page. To scorch the lips

Of the faithful. To anger the mind. To

Light to flame the mountainside brush. My

Poetry is a lithograph of words

Set on stone tablets to print to pages

The rules of language bestowed only to

Be broken. To set the dictionary

Of lies that will bring forth ideologues

Who will try to hold your feet to the flame.






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