O this learned and engrained sickness, br this obsession with words, sadly, br I must admit I am terminally afflicted, br The words they grow inside like a loving cancer. br br Venomous habit, br this tangled practice: br manipulating spider webs br of suffering br into ivory orchid offerings. br br In vain I can strain my mind all day br but alas, to no avail, br this veil still obfuscates the space between us. br br Intruding and impeding, uninvited br they filter through my web; br mosquitoes blemishing naked summerlit flesh, br bits of lead and calcium br accumulated in my seer's spigot, br muddying the cup br from which we sip and share. br br Like a horse with blinders, br these words keep me running along br this never ending-short lived-straight forward-circular track br The words whip and I obey! br br Hah these silly empty abstractions! br Such a laughable pity how br they have made me their slave! br br But let me be honest, br br I'll never have the courage to run. br There's no escaping- they are my escape! br I could never bring myself to abandon them br I've grown too accustomed to their phantom, poetic world br br My whole life is built upon these abstractions! br I've grouped people into three basic categories: br Inspiration, Support and Distraction! br br O to find haven in the land of pure color and image, br to communicate through the soul br and forever keep my mouth closed! br br O to be a master of psychic intuition and animal instinct! br br Dry and brittle, these words, a carcass, discarded bone br void of all essential marrow br br Bloated and lifeless, these moribund words, this poem br lacking all essential qualities of health and meaning.