License to kill (the language)

There's this thing in poetry called poetic license. (You've likely heard of it.) But it basically gives a writer free reign to massage, mangle, and manipulate the use of language for so-called "artistic effect." It's the reason I began the previous sentence with the word "but" (much to my English teacher's chagrin) -- mostly I just liked the rhythm and flow better with the extra word.

But beginning a sentence with an unnecessary conjunction is a pretty tame example. Writers, especially poets, can often take this license to the extreme -- using words solely for their sound, discarding their meaning, redefining them, even respelling them. 

I am guilty of this. (I am so guilty of this.)

Though I suppose that's why I love invoking artistic license (the most ubiquitous term) so much in my work. Could you imagine having to conform to all the rules of English with each poetic phrase? Always needing a subject and verb, proper capitalization, appropriate punctuation -- a perfectly diagrammed sentence at every turn? The previous fragment wouldn't even exist! And there'd likely be little difference between poetry or prose at that point -- both of whom I love, mind you. But whether poetry or prose, give me the freedom to write my thoughts as they arrive any day.

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the I.N. M-E

Tear away the fleshy wax paper  shielding

the aggravation burrowed in my brain  ;

Inflame it to the matchless company who’ve come to read me

Daily (they don’t know me

Watch it spark away like flicker paper;

Slide ashily through my fingertips

I want to be truthful,

To shed the automaton shell concealing

The me I want to be (revelation, showing

The me that I am (perception …hiding_

The me that was there (compunction,

Puncture the bubble-thin crust

Constantly sphere-ing my weakness

I want to fail,

To reject heroic optimism for the veil of reality ;

Tired tryings of faux faith which surpass

Intention and befell delusion

I want to succeed ;

Witness to artless bastards who conducted

Consequenceless critiques

At my expense;

And the expense of the deeper_ sought meaning

I want to be real ,

To betray the strong  trends which are planted around me

(by my own doing_

uninundate myself in the semen of the damn world   

tear its ripping voice from my ears;

and in the notion that life is lifeless…

I want to die,

To relax my straight  grasp on the porcupine normalcy

That_we_pledge to

But to whom definition escapes

(who wants normal,?

Softly indulge in poison abstractions_

Then Relive as the incarnation of myself

I want to be eternal,

Revoke emotion & stand silent thru life’s

Renovations_ that, rather not concern,

though constantly evoke

my Provocation(what is living?

I want to feel pain  ,

To release the masks on my depression_

Cut the vein of contented dishonesty

Respiring in blood I’d in unrestriction

spill  ,In all honesty 

I want to entertain,

To evade any dissemblance, resemblance, or commemorance of

any persons living or who should, shall, or would be_dead)

                but still remain not about

who shall remain nameless

[give a damn about fame_Though I will point them

Out for you)

I want to be selfish?

in Me.  on Me.  of Me. Why me?

I want to express myself  ,

to Be unnoticed and to be recognized

I want to love

to disembowel pits of loathing which sour our perceptions

And the inhibitions which limit us from

accepting/Expressing/redressing/Rejecting it.

I want to hate ,

Reinforce minor preconceptions

for major ill performance (_minority never wins

anyways)

I want to be simple

I want to be complex ;

to Erect half-mast distractions

For long-legged “philosophers”

Who find their composure absent

And their strides just set,say,  for over-stepping boundaries?

So why not love?

And why not hate?

Why be gay?

Why be straight?

Why not just be,

                exist.

And through my [one] and my reflected [I], see

the [I] that exists

I.N. M-E.

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image: freedigitalphotos.net