Sunday, August 26, 2012

projectile letters

i find words
that have endured the matrimony
of iodine and open wounds
left to simmer like
pies for Sunday dinner on windowsills
taste better to those folks
who make a fetish
out of misery
feast on it
like whirring screens
in a peep show booth
no one knows you're in
except your past lives
these words
become crumpled bills
currency to what they think true artists
should be
ignoring the possibility
that perhaps said artist
had to hurl these words
from their abdomen
rather than their heart
even heaving
has a purpose

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