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.
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