Words...

This stream of fragments, like
chips of mind glass; words are
stained, creative juices dripping
from coarse edges; words are
broken bits of emotion in lurid
shapes, wildfires; words...they
viciously latch to emotions which
gush forth our spirits, erupting
from their Neanderthal caves, embellished life,
words, a Spring in Winter, a dry Nile, words
a turquoise eye, a tiger claw, a word of
sudden death, all at once spun by starburst
golden threads of imagination, the engine of creation,
the tool of beauty, words, a molten scythe
crashing audacious onto sharp rocks
of indolence, onto matted paper, words,
immaculate creatures squeezing through
the thin vaginas of cerulean pens; call them words
Severed from the ice of the superego, glazed
as babies stillborn, words, resuscitated, words
lying naked in open oxygen, words
of possibility and vulnerability, imperfections
writhing in rays, words
of thought, provoking more
words, worming through dirt, desperate,
approaching the light of epiphany
unisex, unicorn, universe, uniform
alive are words, free and torn
unabashed and unformed
mutably indelible, breathes the
quintessential paradox! which
dying and rising in waves, flies
a liquid pheonix
featherless, shapeless,
inked in black

words.