Expression

Emotion beyond the range of diction—

is this why

we seek to sabotage structure,

convolute syntactical ease,

and undermine our stable

rules?

...

Why we scatter

pell-mell periods and words, hodgepodge-ing

forms, fermenting fractious

phrases for our forceful throes,

devoid of tight, clear-cut

verse,

...

Looking like some Abstract

Expressionist page of drips and splashes

that seems to share no order or idea

but seem to only scream out our emotion

scattered upon some cluttered

canvas,

...

Or some atonal

disarray of dissonant, demented

notes that screech and gargle

with some anti-minimalistic, utterly serialistic,

harrowing, haranguing

symphony?

...

Why we add some contorted leap

in lieu of battements,

or some primitive, ungraceful crouch

in place of some plié,

while our bodies move

and dance?

...

In hopes of coping and commenting on

some

type of

ringing wracking wrenching revolting revolutionary

thought,

or

some

vexing vindictive vivid voracious vitriolic

vision,

we dissect our designs

to discuss, destroy, or develop them,

looking at it like some

vivisected

thing

that lives in convoluted complexities;

...

We break the rules,

write in fractured verse,

splash our paint upon the canvas,

and compose some violent symphony

to somehow try to show our

emotion beyond the range of diction.