August 08, 2010

What They Mean

by me

I wish to use words
like javelins, like jagged
glass, like teeth. Like salt
and tree branches and the
hands of infants. Like oceans
and birdsong and cement. I want
to cup each word in my palms,
a tiny arsenal, and launch them
like bullets at passersby
so they know the sting, the throb,
the awe and the glory, the
beauty that feels like
pain, the quiet and the
rest. The meaning.
I want them all to know
the meaning like they know
the morning fog, like they know
that stretch of blacktop highway,
like they know the outline
of clouds against the sky.

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