words to f*** with (i'm no Madame)

words to f*** with (i'm no Madame)

i am a poet
by nature and instinct, i abuse words
just to see how they form opinions,
i am deadly accurate but by no means
a silent killer,
i leave discretionary lifeless words
all about me, like fallen comrades with
gluttonous verbose appetites, dancing piñatas
of every ill wind, inclinations
sliced open, words strewn everywhere
but where they belong,
in context;
although pine boxes make for good compartmentalizations
visualizations and ramifications, riots of gathering words
and sound, heady and ready
malcontents
if and when word-eating microbes run rampant
just as serials of inclination become as much as an apt pupil,
learning the tricks of my trade–
a marksman of the highest caliber
i hit the bulls eye with regularity
and never take laxatives or let loose the bowels
of synonyms and homonyms nor are
fixatives, curatives, ligatures and signatures imbibed or laid aside
for later perusal
i am
notoriously big, a rapper and a clapper
restitution is an institution that predisposes,
posits revisions and recisions
words like common whores of indifference
artistic choke holds
and slam dunks at coffee shops,
open twenty-four hours a day,
breaking logic, fingers chewed to the bone
to find the right taste and substance,
cutting edges off holes of indecision
necessitating
microsurgery without benefit of anesthesia
i assault and assail, there is no asylum
that can contain me and you’re a fool if you
can’t read between the lines.

i’m a line-by-line addict, i throw caution to the
wind and never separate the oranges from apples,
hardly ever put the cart before the donkey or her arse.

And i’m going stark raving mad with all this white;
mountains of snow, pages of emptiness
and oppression.