the surface of the sun erupts
spilling streams of brimstone
into airless passageways
where poets roam
words catch fire orbit the mind
like elliptical rocks mortared tight
they shed more heat than light
pile them high
pick only hard consonants
their Anglo-Saxon pedigree
stirs the lowest impulses of life
use them sparingly
elegance eschews vulgarity
the driving force of the body
the circulation of black blood
swallow it like wine
to name is to own
like landed gentry you parcel out
your words as possessions
snatch them from the void
you must climb over the walls
of what cannot be spoken
stitch the sun's lacerations
into the fire of the poem