Free Verse
I Am Content
watch me endure

Ablaze and inked in slack, I am the writing on the stall rasping at hinges that creak through lines to arch brows and close legs punctuated with curses.
Write it. Rest it. Work it until imagery is the tale of a pen, whipped, lashed, and quilled to archetype with magma feather in a font run on bold.
Burnish me. Brandish this draft to the bottom of the slush pile and drop sentence with stamps, but my word is the phoenix vulcanized in meter and dash.
Dante works his seven within stanzas where my grammar fractals into rant until every re-submission is the fuel for cackle, verse, and page.
