I make my weapons
from the slender
arabesques
of syntax
and colloquial
slits of grammar
these are my methods
my deaths
my serpentine swans
that linger
in the half light
of the
half lidded
drunken moon
words liberate
and leave wounds
it’s not their fault
its yours
for making me
do this
write this
scribble this
scream this
I am free
at war
with
you
Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 02-14-13
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