| The
Lightning of Words Rioting from Your Mouth
You
itch with a lightning of words all wanting and wanting to be a poem,
the words crawl and run and sing to all the unborn poems that are clawing
at the walls of your brains to be born on a page, you raise one poem
after another out of the ruins of the human race, each phrase of poetry
is a street of crumbling empty shells of buildings that used to seduce
and struggle with human life before the final war, every poem is a rampage
of hope and every poem is a carnival of desperation—this phrase of
poetry tries to start and start again and again but it falls—the next
phrase is a rodent blessing the remains of your corpse with its rioting
hunger—it eats through a place where you used to think of the whole
eagerness of the human race rushing forward to the cliffs of its own
extinction, hope is an empty word crumbling in a field all by itself,
darkness is gathering at the edges of our history, everything that right
now yearns and hustles and swaggers with so much life will soon be a
dash of emptiness screaming with the winds
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