someone still likes the way words race across a page like brazen insects
someone still marvels at the magic and movement of poetry rhythms that challenge and calm the heart
someone still respects the simple music of a single sonnet so sweetly sounding the reader whirls in exhilaration like a ballerina in a sunlit room
now take the words and make them twist and turn and jump and rise and fall
you are their master their leader their captain make them bow to your voice make them cower and despise you call you hateful names curse your power
bind them up in a choke hold watch the blood fill their faces their tiny mouths squealing in pain
then release them slowly into the night whispering your forgiveness currying their favor for you know in their naked humility in their confusion and fear they are after all only words