idea - 9/24

9/24/12

…And there I stand, under the lone flickering bulb, sweating and bloodied, shirt off, a tattered scrap of paper in one hand, dripping ink onto the floorboards, the other, a clenched fist, bruised and shaking, raised to the leaky ceiling above, shouting into the crowd, the Fight Club of poetic convention, ‘first rule of this club…use every word you know to exist! Speak them ALL ‘till your throat’s torn red, and you forget to mind your p’s and q’s!’