Archive
11/21/08 - (4)
Words to the Wise
Words are spurious. They're shit disturbers; vermin; German V-2's scourging Britain; murderous curses; Spitting cobras slithering out of croker sacks; pathogens.
For certain, they can disguise themselves as Iron Curtains, Specious UN speeches delivered by demented demons, Genocides parading as God's Word, to humankind.
It's safe to say I've personally known words That have always insisted on having the last word, The first whack at spewing libelous and slanderous stool,
As though they were writing the gossip columns For Walter Winchell, Louella Parsons, the National Enquirer, Warming up the frothing dogs, before a Nuremberg rally.
Truth is, words are duplicitous, scurrilous sociopaths Who don't give a rat's ass about anyone's ass but their own. Trust me — I know them, intimately; they can't be trusted.
After forty-five years of being forced to use words, as a poet, In my private war against hypocrisy, I have to advise you, with painfully disdainful humiliation,
That you damn well better relegate your words to silence. That way, you won't be called a liar or an idea defiler, Just a mute fool with pen and empty notebook.
11/21/08 - (4)
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