Song of a Minor Poet

My life will not be meaningful unless
I bite my tongue and taste the words I bleed
Then hold behind my lips the clotted mess
Until the urge to spit becomes a need
Until I gag upon poetic gore
As life begins to trickle down my throat
Until my straining lips will hold no more
My eyes begin to bulge, my face to bloat
Then opening some book that mocks my pain
Upon some hallowed page expectorate
Obscure the words revered I feel are vain
For all the souls they don’t illuminate
And even if by chance I bleed to death
I will have spat some meaning with one breath

Leave a Reply