with bowed head, love and hands pressed together

I have no real interest in flicking out rhyme

Or tangled verses, prostrating

Masticating

Over

And

Over again

The intricacies of language

I have no real interest in getting you here

Or having my words drum themselves into your mind

I care very little for your interpretations

Your attachments

Or

Intentions

That you might place upon me in order to place me into your significant understanding of what poetry should be

If I write or speak for anything

It is in the hope to transcend this

In the hope to tie up and bring an end to

This

So I strip it down

Sieve it

Spell it out in colourful children’s letter blocks

There is only one ear to which I speak

Only one I for which i write

There is a saying, which can be hard to fathom

If you meet a Buddha on the road, then kill ‘im

So,

If you hear a poet speak a line and it sounds like something akin to the beating of your heart…. Then eat… it… out

I’m only ever here so you can hear your self think