CALLIGRAPHY WITH A BRICK
Words aren’t fully formed
Aren’t fully formed
Incomplete and shivering
They just fall out my mouth
And cling to my fists
Like black cancer tar
Syntax lost its meaning
Page is like a football street
And our ink is bleeding
And I try to make sense
To communicate
Got a point to prove
It’ll come across
Through grit teeth
And slurred words
My finer sensibilities
Part cooked, part raw
Can’t do calligraphy
With a brick
Can’t shoot Cupid’s bow
With snakes for arrows
And I try to make sense
To communicate
Got a point to prove
It’ll come across
Through grit teeth
And slurred words
The lump in my head
Pulses and throbs
As each thump resonates
With cluttered echoes
Of riddles and regrets
And I try to make sense
To communicate
Got a point to prove
It’ll come across
Through grit teeth
And slurred words
Seems like crystal logic!
When I was assembled
They messed up a spot
Should’ve roomed a calm
Now it seems like a vacant lot
