Archive 11/25/08 - (2)

   

Mr. Bic Pen

              

OK, Mr. Bic "Civil Serpent" Pen,

What kind and stripe of pent-up persuasive, controversial stuff

Do you possess, in your clear-plastic thermometer shaft?

 

Ballpoint-blank, I ask you, beseech you,

To disclose to me, in plain, simple, and true English,

The secrets of your esoteric, mercurial inkiness,

 

Tell me, in no uncertain terms, in words that make a difference,

The "hand," the "feel," the "heft," the "torque" of the world

About to compel you to sacrifice your tell-all soul, to a tell-all universe.

 

But like deaf, mute, inert, intractable death,

You guard your precious silence,

Refuse to expose your poetic ideas, images, to scrutiny,

 

Decide, instead, to take the high road,

Ride out the temptation to express your best intentions,

Concluding that the cosmos isn't deserving of your confession.

 

Tonight, Mr. Bic "Prince of Lies" Pen,

Spare me the humiliation, the contumely I'd suffer

If you were to keep your ink from revealing what's up your sleeve.

 

If you don't, you'll force me to snap your shaft in half,

So that you won't coil, strike, sink your poisonous fang into my brain,

Paralyze me, from the imagination down.

 

 

                

11/25/08 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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