i don’t want to analyze poetry
i don’t want to sit at desks
i don’t want to forge meaning
from a void
                     i do protest
i want to rip apart my flesh
and feed my friends the
        tattered
                      bits
i want to rip apart my friends
and feed my flesh their
        hurried
                      quips
i don’t want to analyze poetry
i don’t want to stick band aids to my words
i want to destroy the cage of resolution and unleash the dying
fleas
         and i sure as hell don’t want
         a dependable rhyme scheme,
         either.