When I am a still
Tower of muscle and moping vowels
I taste the words inside my mind
And thrill-seek brilliance in words,
Until they live aside from
The set of letters, hoping
They will shine and gloss
The pause of sound that’s come with thought
I cannot bear to keep.
Stop to eat their syllables over,
And again. As if their shapes have swallowed meaning
Up in utterance and being, as if
You could ever love just with diction
Or I could feel alive through my words.