Trapped Inside a Poet

Off-beat pulse, echoed heart to part, Separate slime of sweating art. Body but a corpus, corporal careless muck, Limbed flubber army legs lashing ‘gainst the yuck. Mind but memory in meld with melted vision pours, Trickles of tickled tactile tethers; ancient sores. A Gelphling gathers Skexy exorcism, Against a wizard’s litany of prism. “Some directions,” says I to me, “Not much to work with, to be.” An auger delves in mystic vision, Against the self or whole of catechism. Trapped inside a poem’s angle, Body brakes in bend to show it, Web of woven thoughtless tangle, Haunted minds in a wanton poet.