Big, Slow Ones

It's not that I don't mind
the fast spit of text or
the sniffling slithering
eons of prose battling
around lazer beam guitars
or choir's dirty glances--
styles, styles, styles.

Naw, man, shit.

I like 'em big. Big 'n' slow.

I like 'em in action.

Break chop kick cut up;
down left leap break slice;
hack pound jump pounce
trump pout spout lick--

the poems that crop shoot
dodge prop burp trip slip
tick pick point stoop dip
click ship trade drip fade--

paid. I like poems that pay.
The word chunks that grip
your throat by the throat
and give a grubby squeeze-in.