Poeting

I want to taste that sun-blobbed ink on my tongue again,
Swallow it down like a toasted starburst,
A explosion of coloured sound from the mouth
That iron taste of blood at the lip,
I want to get in the ring,
Corona, rays soaking skin
Warming the moist soil within
And as the smoke begins to curl,
The ignition begins to turn,
The words come, bring it on,
I've gnawed Dillard's universal jagged leaves
For what seems like eternity,
I've gotten busy living,
But it's time to listen and speak
Raise the sails and see where the breath leads,
It's time, taste
The metal to the mouth,
The cracks and bends of the bone shop,
Knitting syllables into threads into sunlight into
the work lines in my palms poetry.