Manifesto of a Poet Reborn

Manifesto of a Poet Reborn

I tiptoe, dance,
and dribble my words
across the page
because poetry is prose in tap
shoes, it’s copy writing
In drag.  It’s the sound my
soul makes cracking
its knuckles.  Poetry’s a pink
molerat on the beach, a newly
circumcised penis, Botticelli’s
Venus rising from a scalloped
potato casserole.  My poem’s a
War on Drugs, it’s better than booze,
It’s the sound
of open floodgates
peace flowing
from wounds that won’t ever
heal.

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