a poem to the gods

A Poem by winter;lyra

table flips
backward page flips
we're paraphrasing phrase tricks
in between paintbrush strokes
running from the hangman
for the thrill
falling in love
for the feel
fishing wishes at every comet
sick men and women
drunk in the mind
and in the spawn of it
this you will not take

why do you insist?

the art is not offered - it is found
the experience is not spoken - it is felt

you will not rulebook me
you will not make an engineer out of me

here
i toast, to myself
because i express myself with my heart
and not with a manual