The Poet Lies Bleeding

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I hate your language


hate your hate


your command


don't tell


us this is poetry


so what it's old


show us mold we'll show you


a universal cure


what are you good for?


and those letters at the back


of your name


what do they do?


but point out your uptight asinine


shame!


like a raw, red, branding


ironic A


unread letter day


a crying shame


a downright upstuck finger


of blame


what do they do


what have they done


for anyone lately?


yes I hate your language hate


your hate your


command don't tell


me


this is poetry


so what it sold


show me shit I'll show you


a solid fucking gold


-plated bestseller


what were you ever good for


besides secret-keeping


and simple-adulterating


and silence-sounding


unresoundingly


when have you moved


a stone from that mouth


a thorn from that heart


a plank from that eye


what is your art without life


lying bleeding


its truth like a light rising


white as a healer


knife bright and brighter


as the poet lies quietly


conspiring


his most central imitation of Martyrdom


Art, inspiring


inspiring


inspiring


as the poet lies dying


and the poem, his killer


pays witness


to our universal price


would you blacken your Name


for this


bargain infamy for glory


assemble lines to wage war


and call it holy?

Created: Mar 14, 2012

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