Poetry

you knock a poem to the floor
beat it with bloody knuckles
shatter
scream
until the air spits red
and leave it trembling,
quivering.
that you might find its meaning.
why not let the ink wash through you
leaving its smoky trail
lingering upon rings of dissolving gray
blending into you
making nothing
something.
hold on to the empty warmth
find beauty in its silent retreat
and lay in the hollow wake
knowing you are changed  
by unknown words.
 because there is no meaning
without feeling