there are two kinds of FoRcEs
that would make me write this poem.
the first is FORCE.
it is not a push.
it is a radiation.
it knocks me dead,
drains the poem from my corpse
with a syringe in my side
and, once that is safely bottled away,
revives me with smelling salts (usually the poem itself,
and pride, or the sudden desire to eat
because I haven't eaten in hours...
I was dead, remember)
I wake up to a pain in my side,
and unwittingly call it the regular kind of hunger.
The second FoRcE
is just plain force.
because i want someone to read it
because i need the cash
because there are consequences if i dont comply
because i, because i.
it is like a stainless steel spoon
scraping the moss at the bottom of my soul
up through my throat
mouthful by mouthful
i spit it out
shivering and gagging
and say- that
that is a POEM.
it's not
even if i bottle it up nicely
and write the label
in all caps.
-Citron
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