do not take them in your hands
and twist them like air balloons
creating wiener dogs and flowers
and imaginary crowns
do not stretch them so thin
that their skins breaks
everything evaporated
torn casings limp on the ground
do not take the words
and make them trophies
line them up on your mantle
shiny and golden and clean
do not make them objects in your
collection trussed in traces of dust
do not play the words
dunk them in the deep end of the pool
with no breath, no air
do not tell the words that you’re coming back
when you know that you’re not
do not pat them on the shoulder
while laughing to your friends about them
the words are simple enough
neutral enough plain enough
the words are atoms of sound
black scratches bent into circuits
they catch your electricity
they await your satisfaction
the words designed
to penetrate within
faster than the hypodermic’s nose
by-passing follicles and fat
the words bounce against your walls
they echo and then want to come out
let the words say you
celebrate you
flipping all your dark corners
inside out
