you?
you’ve got slave-fingers,
tip-tappin’ away,
just a voice,
you say,
just a voice behind a keyboard.
sometimes you read to me,
poetry read aloud, breathless and sloppy.
you keep the beat to your footsteps,
goin’ on ‘n on ’bout your misteps.
I got rage,
‘n I got fire,
but you, you’ve got this dehydrated desire.
distractions?
distractions are pop-guns ‘n fire crackers,
you?
you’ve got atom bombs for vocal chords,
‘n what you don’t burn at first-salvo-blast,
you dig down, peelin’ skin ‘n hair,
’til you won’t be ignored.
’til you can’t be ignored.
‘n you’ve got fingers like whirlwinds,
they ain’t kind,
‘n they ain’t worried,
but even destruction is beautiful.
just a voice,
you say,
just a voice behind a keyboard.
