I don’t understand poems,
or words, or chatter.
How do they form like loose clay
around the mold of earthly matter?
Words cast up their account
of what lies in the gut
and rise to the mouth
to utter and strut.
Do we have no power
over what we say ?
Are we merely overpowered
by a shower of words at play?
Somedays, words are so strong
they insist and persist, bursting the cork.
Other days, words are so weak
pulling them out is too much work.
The worst thing is not silence.
The worst thing is a paragraph
dragged out with violence.
Today, all words can do is laugh.
annarino writes 
Nice