A Poem that could Kill

Sometimes I get this awful hunger
that swivels up my belly, parades my eyes, and forces me to kneel.

I must consume words
I strip their syllables letter by letter and hang them on my wall
like trophies.

Poems decompose in my garage.
and sometimes, when my lips chafe,
I hack them, stitch them together with one of my own,
and set the lingual mutant ablaze in my driveway.

It shrieks
and scrambles
until it hits the windshield
of another poet gunning it
way past the speed limit.