the words i scratch out
suffixes, prefixes,
only seem to spill from edges on scribble wounds;
(the black blood of a poet.)
Right in tone-
crammed, potential-quashed,
sense on verge of senseless
make haste, my aesthetic print.
the copies, the templates
the redesigns- and outlines-
love thy neighbor as thyself
(adverbs, adjectives, nouns, and pronouns)
along with every lackluster
over-powered, and lovely word
your carpal wrist, your nifty fingers,
those ink-smudged and out-of-love
weathered skin and whether-bared
ringed, scratched, healed (or not),
has to offer.
YOU ARE READING
NEW HEARTS & COLD SEAS
Poetrywhen they seek you out because they know they can, because they know they can get away with it - anonymity is your friend.
