social media, 4

I have grown tired of words
imagine that, me, a poet
it’s true, have had my fill--
don’t think evilly of me
it’s not like we’re starving
between breaths
not like we are not so full
of them our brains don't outweigh 
our hearts not like we have not
devoured them like potato
chips been force-fed them 
and gagged on them as if
on dogmeat or worse not like 
the words do what
we tell them too anyway
unruly things full of dangerous 
objects like the slippery S
of insinuations or the jagged I 
prone to impaling--
seriously, goddamn that I
and the horse it rode in on--
no, we’re lacking nothing
in the Sentence Department
the Bureau of Statements
we’re so full of them
they’re leaking into outer space
polluting the silence
of the moons, bouncing back
radioactive as a rotten sun’s
mind and the trees, who do
well enough sans adjectives,
shiver. I’m searching for 
a new language that doesn’t
require them, an essay
of pure, tactile devotion, a species 
of love, speaking of which, yes
I could never wrap my tongue
completely around. 
​