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I Force Poetry.

by Eli Skipp

With the pressing of a lover,
I force poetry.
It is with this ultimate taboo it rings,
like the ripping of clothes
and the breaking of nails
and the bluntness of fingertips,
that I force poetry.

Granted those rare days when it comes so easily, so wanting,
I force poetry.
It is the pushing of words like air,
Like breathing too hard,
Like the stretching of one's diaphragm to untold lengths,
This is how I force poetry.

So like the insistence of the pawing of animals,
I force poetry.
It is this brutal anger
And absolute need
That drives me this way.
Like the rending of flesh and the twisting of skin,
I delve,
Like the pulling of hair, the pimpling of scalp,
I demand this great surrender and so submit.

i breathe in tempo
and speak in rhythm
and embroider these words into my soul
and so submit.

It is with this final desperation
and the calming of desire
and the quieting of this beautiful hollowedness,
that I force poetry.


Author's Note: It is these that mean so little to me in the long run. They reek of disappointment.

Posted on 03/30/2006
Copyright © 2022 Eli Skipp

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Olivia Martin on 03/31/06 at 04:43 AM

If this is an example of "disappointment", I can only imagine the perfection of your other words. Though the poet's greatest tragedy is personal failure, I offer an outside perspective in saying that your piece was elogant beyond description. The crisp images, percise diction, and perfect rhythm created an outstanding performance here. Give yourself a bit more credit, this was an outstanding poem!

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