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  • Todd Wooten

The Empty Urge

Updated: Jul 19, 2023

stomp the brakes, I hear singing

from grocery aisles where packaged razors hang

stumped cashier swiping blades and beets

both stain the hands like fingerpaints


I am calculating when I cut

I take it slow, I do not rush

joy is in the journey, no?

sweet control, I do not carve


I etch my mark, sharp pleasure

with my brown eyes closed, electric sparks

trickle down the lightning rod

artist signature inscribed on a hollow reed


perk? quirk? I roll up my sleeves

private viewing of my handiwork

tailored corduroy, grooved like a record

symphonies broadcast in stylus designs


an aficionado's repertoire to play

I have personality, is it borderline?

won't you celebrate? as I share

to the crowd - no last names - anonymity


a matter of degrees, slash away

can I pass your quizzes and exams?

take my knives, hand me my cap and gown

the red confetti flies


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