WORDS

I do whatever I can to escape them-
I run around the courts chasing a ball
Like a ravaged sweating bull, focused on the point.
Music helps, especially blasting, like Bach
In four voices so there’s no room for another;
Reading the musical notes while playing guitar
Is a good remedy, like a crossword puzzle
Of soft sweet thumps by the plucked notes.
Occasionally I have orgasms which work,
At least for that spectacular 10 seconds,
But then I go back to those damn words,
Making broken sentences in my head
Hour after hour, words, damn words!

Even when I meditated at the sunset,
When the rays open like a wing of gold
It becomes a babble of words and thoughts;
I could not stop them, like water
Going through the cracks on the dykes,
The words swiftly take over in waves;

Feeling like that, why am I a poet?
It seemed to me the only way out
Was to paint and tattoo them, charge them up
With electric shocks, have one meet another
In a new way, make them tribes of rhymes-
And just like that out comes a poem,
Which at least takes control of the moment.

However, when the birds call out,
I whistle back.