These new poets Spin words like strands of silver
On golden tongues
Glue riveting sentences or chisel them Into our minds
Raise radiance to heaven
Then drop their victim
And he crashes as an eternal shell into pieces
Preserved and pinned
Like the iridescent Blue Morpho butterfly
They take flora and fauna
Illuminate Nature’s elegance and bestiality
As the bud appears after the winter frost
Blooming into a blaze of color in summer
These new poets uplift
Authorize the art of erotic
With word pictures possess us
They manifest a revolution of norms
They describe the human desire to conquer
Evidenced in severed body parts, a random arm
Head staring blankly
And mass graves
Yet I love the poets’ rhythm
Sensitivity, perception
Their wake up call Prophetic warnings
Vibrant world pictures
With exploding phrases
Stern philosophic soothsayers
They wield the glittering paintbrush
That creates your mirror
Shows you your own imperfections, beauty, savagery
Their language with twists and reflects
You may blast your euphemisms
Hold on tightly to your logic and your senses
While we, the egotistical poets
Are the conscience and irritants within
The bastards of language,full of paranoia
With revealing touch of truth
Dig deep into the hearts and minds
An irritant, a panacea
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