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Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Words Untamed

There is no poetry here
Only an expanse of blank
Filled with apprehension and fear
And the odd unloved tear

Since we've murdered out the poet
The words they seldom rhyme
They just pour out an unmetered spigot
Jangling incomprehensibly all the damn time

Picked up gently in the hand
They squirm as newborn chicks
Peeping their pronunciations out
Before punctuating it with beaky clicks

Perhaps they will grow into something after all
So you shoo them into the open field
Where they run as fast as their Bambi legs can take them
No leash no law only gravity to attempt to keep them heeled

Murdered be the poet
Hanged is the author
The writer had his hands removed

But the words continue to flow