Poets tic

Poets tic.

Rock back and forth like verbal metronomes
Stick a quill into the ink until it comes
Slick a swathe of some salacious memory that’s too delicious to forget
And I’ll be patient ‘til it’s done

Chew. Chew. Chew. Swallow.

This is that kiss that you missed
‘cause your wires weren’t clipped,
They were frayed
And the message was betrayed and delayed
You were stuck with that static playing havoc in your ear
Trying hard to decipher what you knew you didn’t hear

Made up like a baby grown up too fast
The picture doesn’t last, is
That why you live your past?

Glorifying history until you find your Plath?
Sorry, but your rhyme schemes betray the soul
Mathematics to imitate
Rather than generate the whole?

…

And I listen to the self flattery of the ones
Getting high off their own supply
Trying to breathe life into dead words
Grave robbers with tastes which are absurd

There’s no nutrition in the stuff you’re dishing
But I’m the fool for listening

While you ramble on
Singing songs with no melody
Writing lyrics with no rhythm in reality

Jagging off in that fantasy
Where you can be
Socially exclusive
Rather than
Creatively inclusive
Got your truth confused with your own brand of popularity

While me?

I’m a poet.
And poets tic.
Rock back and forth like verbal metronomes
At home feeling the rhythm of that autism that drones
Vibrating the inner clit of their soul
‘Til they – ahhh! Electrocute themselves
With that pneumatic static of speaking in tongues
Some call Braille
Cause when it comes
Your fingertips go pale ‘til the writing is done

Become one with yourself
Your health depends on it, not those so and so’s
Some call doctors
Who practice because they don’t know
For whom repetition is a substitution, a means to an end
That end, your pen, writing your destiny
Free of any imitators conspiring to
Make you haters of yourselves

Who tells the lies you believe, deceived
Selling everything you need
Buying what makes you bleed
That precious star seed

Suns
Forget they are stars, furiously blinding with wars
Against the very nature of who they are
While behind the screams of suns’ intelligence
Moons reflect a softer brilliance
Guiding the lost out of darkness
While suns rest
Gone too far

Too far into that
Poet’s tic.