Spillage
by Corinna Underwood
Let loose of grammar, stammering through unversed lines
in persistent attempts to share language-art with other
listening eyes and seeing ears I drag my intensities
across smooth sheets, roughening with the touch of
my word's breath; rasping lately from having poured out
so much in so few sound shapes. And still in the cold
communication of eyes locking and staring all the same
way, chills through my layers of artificial skin.
My steel knuckled hand clenches tight and then tighter
to restrain from desired acts of violent subterfuge.
Tearing words from my own lips; thrown mercilessly;
my partial death on your lap. Instead, I might maintain
a light composure before all premature conveyance
can be fully stopped. Then suddenly there I go
again hurdling bridges, its such a different view
altogether from the eye's corners, where empty spaces
will dance on spindled legs and we are left
still hungering for an unfound, unfathomable taste,
somewhere between earth and chocolate.
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