Hyde

 

 

 

Words dance, spasm

like bits of dirt on the page,

defying securities of posit and finite.

 

I feel the ink stretching

the fibers of the paper,

see it filling microscopic spaces.

 

A manic glimpse

of foreheads and breasts

loping into corners, squared to meet the room.

 

A violent scrawling

of no totemic significance,

idle language loses all purpose,

molts like charred flesh,

and I am Hyde.

 

No morals, no need – all need,

freedom to devastate –

the white tablet is raped of innocence,

the pen sodomizes all meaning,

words become poem.

3 comments

  1. Hi Craig

    violent scrawling

    of no totemic significance,

    idle language loses all purpose,

    molts like charred flesh,

    and I am Hyde.

    Indeed, this character you create in the poem is “Hyde”. Chilling and imagistic, this poem so effectively haunts the reader from start to finish. You allow one to feel the monstrous range of this person’s thoughts and needs. The vivid use of language makes this version of Hyde a stunner!

    Thanks for sharing,
    much enjoyed!
    wendy

    Like

  2. I want to praise this poem, but even more I’m feeling an urge to run far away before it worms into my mind and starts eating my neurons.

    Like

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