I am a raging poet,
my inked hatchet
flesh wedging a spray of bloody
word foam onto the triage
of paper,
bending
folding
spindling
mutilating
a torrent of liquid emotion,
wrenched thought spasms
corrugated prisms of mind swell,
and when I have wrought and reaped,
stretched my filigree soul over
a brittle weave of yellowed paper,
soaked the pages with philosophical blood,
crimson views of humanity, caramelizing
the sticky pages together,
a pungent weld of glory and desperation,
my wife looks it over and says,
“Yeah, cool.”
Don’t forget to check out my project on