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Walking the Plank MAG
Wheresoever I travel, behind me
I leave a trail of literary castaways,
each line an outcast,
a mutineer caught in the act of rebellion
breaking the cage of
white clashing teeth,
dancing with a darting tongue,
a fencing match twisting and turning
with roooound voooowels and c-c-utting
c-consonants
all the while shattering
any semblance of shame,
words flow freely,
there is a leak in the boat.
Safety slowly sinks, and as solid submerges,
I can finally find that I am lighter than air,
lifted not by wind but
every captured breath to ever
grace my lungs,
expelled in a final billowing of syllable sails,
drawing an X
marks the spot above my
quivering skull and crossed bones
ripe for ridicule,
but instead of cacophonies of
cannon shots
I only hear waves of applause.
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