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.