The Grenade of a Poem
I throw the thought-out shock of my poem
into the seats of the audience. I have pulled-
out the combined ring, firing-pin. I hear
the fuse of this verbal bomb sizzle-up
and then spin round, down on the ground.
Sparks fizzle and the poem explodes.
The impact-concussion rests blistered
in the audience able to use it to clean and dress
in-depth wounds made known through
the applause of their neighbors. I smile
at this understood pain. Then I reach
into my bag of conceits again and toss another
with a higher and hotter tensile strengthened
noun-cover to shrapnel even more insight.
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