The Writers' Circle

vault the sentries, bomb the gates
and militate those pent -

    petal -

emotions that ignite and scorch
and send the petals of your senses into flames -

    ride -

leave the antsy Earth behind
because it is too busy and too rampant -

    that rocket-ride -

for you; shuck it; chuck it; buzz off
on the fury of your feelings -

    in flames -

go summer with the moon, the cloqué-faced
moon, the pocky moon that nobody fancies -

    shuck it, chuck it -

sit inside its empty cockpit
and steer it towards the stars to turn them rancid -

    go picaroon -

and voyage like a corsair past
their domineered and overmastered planets -

    go freeboot -

and pillage them; and travel to the fringe,
to the place where the buttress of the cosmos is -

    go buccaneering -

and cannonball it, make it rent; and rant and air
your cri de coeur through the hole you make -

    before reality captures you in it's gape -

to what's beyond, so as to fill it