I have a head with no mind in it,
A shoulder-mounted battering blunt instrument,
So I chew up pages by the three-subject notebook,
Until anyone nearby can't help but look.
I smash my keyboards 'til they give up their texts
and their ghosts, and my habits, and...what's next?
I bash the culture, and the world, and my own writing.
The life of a poet is all violence, and exciting.
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