All these poems have rigor mortis.
Seize up…tight as coffins!
O the private hidden heart
what a tart you are! What a load
of empty tissue boxes!
Snap all your bloody pens!
Burn them! Bring them
to their knees!
Words are riderless…
Words have no feet…
Word are sloppy gestures/incomplete…
Dead wood!
and here
I shall sing
a eulogy
and you
shall lower
your own coffin down
in silence
as i play
my tiny Violin
trying not to
say too much
hold my tongue
Words,
you finally disappoint!
you stiffen
regardless,
we continue
to talk about you
(particularly the first half)