Words and me are like birds and seed, greedily feeding a need.
Verse has purpose, nursing the hurt that the world unfurls.
I can have a bad day and say that it is just a day. I don't pray away the days dismays, I can't chant to advance the plans of the great lord above. I can't lance that particular boil with blood, toil, tears, and sweat to forget.
I use words, the English tradition, on a mission to document and lament what ill fate has befallen me. I prod glyphs into the system and sift meaning on the screen. A stream of thought; awkward, ought not to be curtailed, and corralled, penned, and zoned. Thoughts honed into an object that is easy to consume.
Words to me dance and play, they can trip off the tongue and land on an exposed nerve, unearth all sorts of things.
Words to me sing, bring joy. Toy with the reader; lead them skipping merrily down a road, knowing the lay of the land, holding the hand, lead by a band and leave the reader bleeding in need of assistance in a dark alley.
Words will fuck you up, they are to be respected. They are where everyone's hope and dreams are invested. Words have shaped the world as we know it. poets and writers, freedom fighters, defiant black women on buses; words are really all anyone discusses.