These Lines Are Killing Me
I love the purity of the clean, white, page.
Just waiting for the hops and skips of my ink.
Waiting to be given shape and meaning.
Never realized how confining lines can be, until now.
How much they try to force thoughts
want them to be
they want them to be
they want them to be.
A lot like life, these lines.
Never allowing freedom to be random and out of order.
These lines are killing me.
at a time.
But I’ve found a way out.
I have learned how to rush all the way
to the very end before
punctuation steps in
before final meaning.
What a thrill it is to steal periods and question marks.
To rob nouns and prepositions of their place.
To switch priorities and watch words;
feel them collide
into new meanings;
breathing new life
into the old and familiar;
changing chicken shit
into chicken salad.
I have found the secret of the clean, white, page.
Now, if only life