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.
But he would experience death. Image
Through the mass of humanity and stop.
Billy was a small kid. Dead. For he was.
He wasn’t willing to wait in all this
Work. It had begun luggage in language.
Today, Jenkins would take full advantage
Acid tearing away your breath. Feeling
Of the badges perks. He walked past the line
Carver of art. The other. The outside.
The gate shook but didn’t budge. Jenkins turned
Converting to Islam. And were he to
This time, he pointed to his badge and said,
A breath mint. A compilation of short
Hey, let me through. The man in the booth scoffed.
Is the governess a prologue?
James’s discursive field of letter.
The governess said after and then repeated governess.
This phrase could be sign that he had himself.
The reappearance of a story to tell his story
Creates an area of discourse.
I saw he was not hand.
James following this, I took for an argument.
Yes, the competition, the went.
This nothing two more times,
Elsewhere, Francesco and Miles
Repeat the word. Up until page 6.
Before Miles admits to having
Opened the story to the group.
Before the fact, the manuscript arrives.
And how the author’s hand postpones his telling
Should be referred to as the hand of agree.
When God looks down,
We speak the wigwag of a bumblebee.
Grunts, clicks, and ululations
Warbles and trills.
If we understand each other,
If we can communicate,
Do we have souls?