poets are a myriad of things
i\’d never thought about a scribe
as a coroner — the conceptualization
of the scenery so lush with literature
are books places where words go to die?
stand sturdy in your oubliette
contemplate — if each word on the entire
planet could be used once
single served — our oceans
would be polluted with all the players
from chicka chicka boom boom
we would hold funerals for every
letter conjoined to each other
vacancies would not prove
to be succulent for the digestion
funerals would be held
for all the wishy-washies
similar to those of \’but\’ or \’just\’
statements of power do not require
words to make another human
being feel small
the complexity induced simplicity
is the subterfuge inside the mind
which seeks comprehension
dilapidated letters, syntax riddled
with adhesions, dried crusted plasma
i wonder if letters are more resilient
than humans — absent of skin
an entity which continues
in the onyx pitch void
of indecision
& cultured
expression
CCIQ Press 