Animate my life, radiate my strife, cut me like a knife but stay out of sight.Won’t you tell me how, slow-moving like a cow, words that are now, words that make you say “Wow!”Free verse, a curse ( or course), tell me what it’s worth, straight from the Earth, the birth of a puzzle, put a muzzle on thoughts that can’t be bought or sought after.Rhymes are a crime, when they spew from the mind, the kind that goes a million miles an hour, a cup of sour milk is spilt on the table while I weave a fable of lies and surprise you with more disjointed words.The end of this poem is near and I’ll stop it here but don’t fear, my hand is sore and I won’t write anymore. At least not tonight. Well, alright, till tomorrow.