Rambling, clambering, bubbling brook of words
Runs quickly over the book
In front of you
You
You who are without unknowledge
Without sin
Without the knowledge to know
How to feel
Or too see
Or to untranslate into “me.”
How you talk in that way
The way that forces me to look away
Look away because if I don't I believe
That my arms will heave
And I will leave this chair
And heave a hand heavy into your hair-line
And find that you are possibly kind
And caring, and willing to share the words of cherish
And behold in the awe of the beauty of the words running
Rambling
Clambering out of your open head
And onto the burnt carpet.
And into my hand
Heaving with heavy hatred
At the sight of your human form.
But for now
Those words shall remain running and rambling
As I hold my clambering rage inside
And wait for you to finish
Waiting for the rest of the room to realize
How pompous you really are.
And I thank you
For if you weren’t rambling and bambling
Then how could I have written anything?