First Poem
The first time is not unlike an exorcism:
Brash verbs see the light,
Tired metaphors cling calmly to heavy word constructs
The next time is not unlike a re-birth.
New words spring with premeditated tense murder,
Language — bloody, clubbed by hungry pronouns and adjectives — stellar.
That last time is marinated with neologisms,
Sarcastic fallacies, and busted biases.
Heavy and blatant, a rush against time from the start.
Style takes new form; the poet knows the light is on:
It’s time to get the groove on.
