uNTIL

Photo by Katie Jenkins Kester

Until you have uncorked

your carotid, unleashing a flow

of metaphorical images

beyond your explanation,

      ones that make children

      dance with anticipation and

      adults quake with anxiety;

until you shake punctuation around

   like it's going out of style

      so people are forced

         to negotiate your words

            like a live minefield,

tiptoeing gingerly beside threatening ones,

one eye always cocked wordward,

just to make sure they don't detonate;

         until you leave gobs

      of blank space with chaotic,

   jagged edges, conjuring

the plate-glass window

   the neighborhood baseball team

      baptized last week;

   until you make folks reach,

   stretch, and struggle to find

   themselves and their lives

   within the aftermath

   of a topless verbal blender;

until you write with this kind

   of brazen abandon,

      you might not be a poet.

© 2015 Todd Jenkins