between the cavities of my ribs

that is where i want to be

there where continents of sound

flow from my throat and fingers

and i give birth to a whole new earth

there where the mighty poetry

determines the rhythm of the day

i feel the interminable knocking in my throat

the never-ending pricking of my ears

i stand to attention

ready for the mighty verse

to land on my palms with full-blooded wings

i dig in the seashells in search

for the truth of the word

i scratch under the toenails of the ostrich

hungry for the metaphor that will surpass all other metaphors

the words lie like ghostly footprints

on the shadows of the night

refusing to be seen or captured

and yet, like small black poppy seeds

the relentless willpower of

the poetry

lies

between

the

cavities

of

my

ribs

when the word comes

i know how rapturously the syllables

will melt like ripe slices of avocado on my tongue

let me lie deep within the grip of the word

make me swoon, make me unconscious,

make me fly, make me laugh,

make me shiver

and

make me free