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