It is not me, stupid
it is You.
I could have a fluid mind, a clear river with glistening words
swimming on the surface. With letters flowing mellifluous
through me gently, no resistance you see, forming terms and phrases
reflecting in the stream as double nuances.
If it werenít for you
Damn you damn you
I would be soaking in vocabulary, drinking the imagery
dissolving my sorrow.
It is all because of You that my voice
is deep buried in my throat aching throat
a sludge rotting behind your concrete dam
wading in pain through your mire
making sounds as I strain my cords for
elaborate words, my diaphragm in spasms
making sounds like an ass baffled in morass.
They say itís a sign of
blooming to be pressed against your reeking stakes
in silence. They say I must embrace.
But I canít think of flowers
when Iím trapped behind you.
All I want is to kill you to break you
even if itís alone for a
crack to let words leak through, to let voice squeak through.