Flooded

I am not the writer
I am the words
Words like ganglion
And abnegate
And mustang

I am the words
Lovely as spillage from overwrought syllables
Whatever dialectical crime you might commit
Caress me
I am the words

Poetry essays short stories novels
Color sound taste and texture
I’ll tell you about these things
No, no, I’ll show you these things
And you will feel them
Sense them through the strength in my conjuration
I am the words.

Read who you want to write like
Write like who you would run away with
Make love the words
For I am the words.
A sensual creature, bypass the senses
Arms and lips and whispered breath
Whisper your favorite words
For those are me.

But words like mendicant
What can mendicant mean?
Perhaps you are one.
Though I doubt it
It is only a word
And I told you already
I am them.

On Sunday shall we dream wild ideas
Like in each others arms
Times that shall never come
At least that we know of.
But I can change the names
And tell the stories secret
For I am the words

Admonition emotion immolate
Sharpen your tongue slow over teeth
And spill me out from vermilion borderlands
I am the words.
And I belong to you.

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