Sequential Desperation
Carnal motors deep inside the mind and heart
that pump words into the brain,
scream for their proper placement as
the poet prepares them for insertion,
with each one desperate for the next one,
to cling onto it in hopes of
never being left alone again,
to become intimate with it,
to lie down beside it so it can feel
its texture, its warmth, its breathing, in hopes
of a secure connection and an exhilarating elation,
to empower it to grab a hold of the next word
and empower it to lie down beside it.
As lovers lie down, so do words in their loving.
They inspire their lover by their own desire
in hopes of another word to be born,
to strengthen the bond that holds
the poem together, to prepare for its forthcoming,
to teach it to touch the heart
and massage the skin of the soul.
Poets and lovers are all alike in the spirit.
As words beget words,
poets bind themselves to words.
They fill their prosaic emptiness with words.
They look to words for their therapeutic healing,
how they touch and feel in their system,
how they are empowered by their sequence
that in turn makes them feel better
and rewards them for their acquired revelations.
Words are written down like lovers lie down,
each one driven by love and desire.
Each word is in desperate need of the other,
to satisfy it and keep adding onto it,
to make sure the proper sequence
is in order to make it continue
to elevate the spirit and glorify
the love that was put into it.
