Shut Up Laughs At Me

I take my black ink and I write in large furious letters I AM ENRAGED But I am not. I AM FURIOUS! Is the next thing my independent pen throws down, Not on lines, but in an enormously disturbed way, smothering the page. What is going on here? Is my muse having a medical crisis? Pointedly calm I write “I am wild,” in a line, on a line, in a non-savage-like way. Shotgun poetry, Trixie writes next. These two words Are smacking the page in a willy-nilly, topsy-mopsy way. Other words land on the table. I see SHUT UP and she laughs at me. Not Trixie, the word “shut up”. An entire run-on sentence lands on the floor in front of my Table. I AM NOT HAVING A CRISIS appears in big sharp, mean, ugly letters. As if that is not apparent.