c(i)p(he)r

W(or)ds (wit)h(in) (word)s, [poet]ry [locks the mean]ing.

Like (a) c(ode) [in]to the [wild] gene[tics of emotion],

thought is [not] t[here.]

[Consciousness kills] the m[us]e[.]

T[rue songs spew] forth [like a dream] buzz

[straight from the] caterpillar’s [hook]ah.

Obt[use, non-Euclidian],

they come at us from unsafe [angles.]

Somew[here] in the riff-raff we get [the feel].

Like the tremor [of an orgasm],

a little bit of us [dies] on the page[.]

Scholars will [go back] and mush

the w[or]ds, squeeze out the p[u]l[p]

from the paper [and] re[live] our meal

as some un[digest]ible paste.

[But] they will not [know the taste,]

when the table is set [and] we [gorge]

[on the] steaming carc[ass.]

 

 

This post is in response to the dVerse open link night. A little outside of the theme I had meant for this blog, but then it is my blog and I make the rules. I hope you all enjoy the poem.

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