To A Man of Letters

Listen and identify
what your worst nightmare is.
It’s come alive through words and letters.
It’s making your steel reel
like carton and feel
weird.
Weird and real.
Fears. They drill
and drill.
They are carving out steel
with feathers.
They are like hammering wheel.
They stutter
and thrill.
Kill—
they can kill.
It threatens
the ultimate freedom of him.
It scares the shit
out of him.
And gravel is painstakingly sharp,
like razors in butter.
It doesn’t flatter.
It sees
the freckles and wreckage.
It slides and beats
out lies of matter.
It’s cold
but feels.
It’s warm
but cools.
It’s hell in heels,
spiced up with glitter.
It’s wiggling, boggling
will or splatter
of oceanic appeal—
and marine,
Icelandic,
Gaelic,
or Slavic.
It’s a borderline,
bountiful brick
against steel of man.
It’s not inviting.
It’s striking.
Don’t fetter it.
Keep.