I’m as hot as the tea kettle,
I’ll fire away and burst into flames.
Like a phoenix.
I’m as cold as frozen peas,
my icy glare will pierce.
Like an Arctic fox.
These are words I can’t control.
Ask me not what they mean.
I cannot answer you.
These are lines that break
awkward. These are images that
don’t mesh together.
Some rhymes are slanted,
the free verse can’t stand up,
the metaphors are missing a vehicle.
I have no form. I have no content.
I don’t even have a poet.
I’m words that run wild and choose to be.
I control her.
I bite at her spine and I pinch at her thighs
until she writes down a mess of knotted words.