the old forms have been demolished, exploded
smashed to pieces by the jackhammer of innovation
but not entirely, they're still around, moving
slower in dishevelment, like a beggar at a train station...
let's push the envelope of language until it signifies
what? the newest poem, the unimagined utterance --
nothing more than the individual ego smashing like a sparrow
into the glass of tomorrow, crashing through...
bleeding words all over the floor, syllables puddling
at the feet of guests, vowels scurrying under the refrigerator,
nouns slithering into crevices, embarrassed... exposed...
happy with the freedom to disappear again and again
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