[Jim Moonan]

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Them


We've had a lover’s quarrel from the start.
They hold my tongue. I hold their heart.

I lie awake and scheme them,
fall asleep and dream them.

I count them and cage them,
break them, shape them, contort them. .

I tangle them, mangle them,
am served them on a plate, then eat them.

I repeat them, delete them,
feed them, need them, bleed them.

I ogle them, savor them. inhale them.
Make them wear lipstick. Fondle them.

I fling them, pick them up and bring them
to bed, talk pillow talk with them.

I adore them, hoard them,
want more and more and more of them.

I pray for them, play with them,
go ticker tape and spray them.

I woo them, rue them.
Birth them then orphan them.

I gladly bear them like an affliction,
suffer madly their addiction.

I hear them softly sing to me
I echo them my stilted melody.


EDITS
Title was "Words"
S3L2 was: contort them into crooked lines.
S4L2 was: rearrange them, then eat them.
S7L1 was: I treat them like a fling, bring them
S9L1 was: I pray for them, pay for them,
S12L2 was: I sing back to them my stilted melody.



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Words Are Whores

“I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.” —Robert Frost


I count my words.
I keep them in cages.
I rearrange them.
I tangle them.
I mangle them.
I speak them to death.
I delete them.
I contort them into sentences
I abandon them.
I make them wear lipstick.
I repeat them.
I fondle them.
I eat them.
I fight them.
I listen for them.
I collect them.
I strip them.
I want them.
I pray for them.
I pay for them.
I miss them when they're gone.
I can’t conquer them.
I adore them.
I treat them like a whore.
I want more and more of them.
I’m addicted to them.
I find them simply irresistible.
I swear at them.
I see them taste them smell them feel them.
I hear them singing.
I think they sing to me.
They do not.





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