I write to tell you of my life
But you compare meanings with dictionaries
And understand words
Think of this poem like a lover's fight
You told me if we quarrel I must not leave the bed
So I take it I must wrestle you until you yield
If you only bring your senses to words
You are like me, too sophisticated that morning
And too naive to understand
If you will enter into life
You first die bruise and broken
For why should find life if already you are alive
Is this not what you do to me everyday
If I was not a poem I would not even care
But I know I am written to be read
Deeply; to be profoundly understood
I resent dictionaries always sabotaging my imageries
I resent you imposing on me your twisted histories
How many have you had
Is there no private to abort your the incongruities of your womb
A poem must be read without suppositions
Without hesitation
It must be penetrated and rewarded with convulsions
I vomit in revulsion unless I am placated
For the ejaculation of truth,
That is deep semen from complex tissues
And feelings that for life are complex roots.