what you thought hops

poetry is the language of imagination
poetry is a form of positive creation
difficult isn't it
the point
you're missing it
rocking's kind of new to me cuz
my true love is poetry

i don't know what you thought hops
but chief i've got tall props
see, this, be, thee, rebuttal version to mister
academical does not believe that my poems would, could, should have muscles and bodies like
this one

i want my poem to be brazen and long legged and squashed muttered hard under a hard yellow heel's wicked gravity
i wish to leave this lab of brains swishing in jars and
write poems that shatter glass with undeniable bodies
i want to be a word that wants to be a sweating brick
so drink that through your pointed teeth and
critique it
i want to be the strophy that strokes the ear in salty heaves
a spine that bends and works like the dance you shut the door to be
listen to me with your
hips

clutch this line in the fleshy grip of bold thighs
eat through your ears and
drink through your pores and
if you see me splashed across a page

know that a leaf is a tongue
that you're here to make love
to a voice not your own
eat this poem

floss with the barbed length of a simile
and scrap your tongue across the living verses
bristling skin my, i is, just my i, i
promise

i believe in closure but not in hospital corners
the way first principles are real but untraceable
see god is meaning, means becoming
means i knock before i come in
means i wriggle through the riddle of the flesh
to outsweat it
means i wear my impertinence upon my feathering lip

my refusal to bow out to some abstract curtain
and exists backstage by the sandbags and pulleys
hell fucking no!
i exist to be seen
to see and be seen
to push my i to the thou
because the premise of my rhythm
is the unapologetic empathic insistence of the declarative sentence
that's right bad boy
i am, i is, i be
fuck you
i can speak about myself in rhyme and couplets if i want to
i am, i is, i be, i do, i self, i delf, i solo, i dolo
is, is, is, is, i, i, i
am my mothers
talk stories from beginning to end
listen to this poem
with your hips

-dennis kim (typical cats)-