my eyes devour you – you tease my salivating tongue as it rolls
to fathom your form – the flow of juices anticipate your sweet and sour
as I contemplate a chew on you
to masticate your meanings into delicious shreds
hoping not to vomit them onto the page
where people seek answers like seers reading entrails
swallow after swallow plunges your deeper and deeper into hungry hollow
you can’t fool me
I taste your wide open vistas – your moldy sourcing – impalpable nuances
I digest and absorb your origins – your passions – your permutations
you commit to no one – you are fickle – you let anyone use you
no matter how deviant – perverse – idealistic – mechanistic – masochistic
your manifest essence – a claim of presence
dare I touch you on the page – finger you highs and lows like a worm
crawling across telling terrain – terrain filled with hidden convolutions
illuminated by light and divining dark depths filled with infinite inspiration
danger lurks everywhere for those unaware of getting stuck in one of your ruts ruts filled with sand that sometimes
and, at what price come you to be
innocent trees felled by strained muscles wielding axe and machine to
accomplish the telling deed to help bring you to page to fill a knowing
gnawing – notable – quotable – need
is that a distant dying scream I hear as my mind resonates – a scream of
death giving birth to a page so thoughts may urinate and poets ruminate
like some ancient tone giving life to vibrational symbols of universal
yes, silence! silence filled with blinding storms of mindless meanings
I shutter my beleaguered eyes – eyes that beg for
I reach for the light
to turn in for the night
wondering what will happen to my fecund feast – as I sleep
will I be belching and farting – caressing and fornicating
in dreams fondled by words created from places unknown – if so
does this mean I sleep with strangers who travel the ether – forever in search
of slumbering souls to seduce
yes, the power of words flows like a stream – and a stream can be
captured by a dam – and if the dam fails – I pray to quickly write myself to
higher ground
Will I feel pity for those who drown without definition?

by William E. Marks

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