Fall Out From My Eyes

 The words of a poem fall out from my eyes

The words of a poem enter my ears, whirl around,

Pierce the back of my retinas

Fleetingly again fall out from my eyes

The words of a long poem, meander

Down my cheeks

Finding the peaks and valleys

Of my face

Dissipate

Congregate

Propagate

The words of a poem fly onto

My face, I am flush

The words of another long poem enters my spine

As fast as I reel it out

The words of a long poem is another long story

The words of a short poem is another long story

Long, short, quatrain, haiku, prose,

Lyrical, rhymey, sing songy, rappy

The drum beats of my poem make my head bop

Knock inside my eardrums

Thump behind my eyebrows

Pulse between my eyes

Swishing into nostrils with each breath

Smashing into my chest, crashing into my heart

Metrically with my rapid heartbeats

Lines are vague, clear, loud, true, ready

Language is unnecessary, but they are the poem afterall

It will be necessary soon—there is no irrelevance

Don’t dismiss the relevance,

don’t be tricked by the syntax

Don’t be fooled by the rhythm, the calming, the uplifting, the disturbing,

Don’t let the dissection or the intellect be the poem

Let the air take over

The beat is on, the beat is off, the beat is never satisfactory

The poem is constant, in out of my vision, eyesight, non-vision,

The poem is ceaseless, it finds its way in like smoke

It finds its way around like muscle agile and free

It finds its way out like protruding bones  

The poem is the air, the poem is the breath, the poem is wind

It really is. And there is no ignoring or prolonging, or avoiding

There is no denial