I am a poet
who cannot spell
I prefer to love words
with my lips, my tongue
the inflection in my voice

its not that I don't like
writing
the action of ink on paper
but sometimes I **** up
and I injure a strong
colorful
word with my pen
and the shame of this
is enough to keep me distraught
if only for a few moments

because I love words
all words
especially the vibrant ones

I love the soft curve
of their voluptuous vowels
and their sharp corners
consonant collarbones

I love the words
who's many meanings
swiss-army swap
them into sentences
where you would not
expect to find them

I love soft words
who hiss past teeth
with a susurrus
and I love long
complicated words
with edges that could
cut. you. right. open.
with vitriolic intent

I could have chosen
any one of dozens of
lovely
words to fill that space
but I chose one
that I could not spell

Maybe it wouldn't be so hard
if I didn't always write in pen
but I am a stubborn man
who finds it easier
to forgive a few misspellings
than to live with the knowledge
that all he has written
will someday smear