For most creative people, the imagination serves as an excretory channel for violence:
we visualize what we will never actually do.
Because words equal sword, tragic varsity weenies,
and creative writing essays produce
we find violence instead of nice love.
We believe our young are evil
tragic varsity weenies,
and think: rage, love, ruin you. danger hides in pencils.
Like snipers needing a child,
We worry about their letters.
She writes to a boy
in the marching band: Hi drummer.
danger hides in pencils.
But could it be: murder him? throw seeds heals the world.
and art with its slathered howl
avoids cliché, just valid choices
heals the world.
reflecting a devil so chic.
But we don’t listen—our tinseled town
now a wilted sonnet;
we rearrange woman writer
into her own timeworn war.
The love of words should not mean wolf or doves—
by tasting arrows
an artist grows.