Avoid the Void

To break the monotony of a word,
a well-rehearsed poem is up for grabs
in every one of 11 dimensions.

I take it by the neck,
throttle it, give it a black I
and deep-six it as soon as humanly possible.

Well, maybe not. Most certainly don’t want a sestet
walking around the campfire with all those voices
in my head, scaring little children within hearing distance.

It’s Sunday and, on Sundays, the wind chimes on dead-end streets
where poets such as I live and die six feet from the edge
of one infinity or another in some colossal cosmic disaster.

Meanwhile, back at the bright-eyed headhunter’s, another
unavoidable disturbance comes to pass; it always hijacks
good intentions and throws words off the beaten path.