What think you of 'I Sing The Writer'?

Question

I must write all words I can.

In this scopic space, time, event...

They tell me syllabically, that Neitsche

Contortions wing seams to arms,

Raptor talons afoot for swooping,

Shredding those who bare words

In his Frankensteinian forest.

With measured, metered sugar, I

Can sprinkle Zarathustra to invisibility...

Right after ryhming, alliterating his

Throat muscles---

Much like chicken neck wringing

Before de-feathering for soup.

Can we afford laughter's tax on tears...

Or pay full price to hear the lone owl

At night...alone.

Should I...can I afford not to write?

For Zarathustra melodied delighting echoes...

There were no words.

Writers coelesced song tones to words,

Eternally damning themselves...

Thus, the Roses of h**l...

Petalled with 'now',

Rooted with 'creation',

Stemmed with 'neverending',

Surrounded in flame.

Answer 1

It seems very forceful. Like you had something to get off your chest. Is there someone's chicken neck you'd like to wring?

Answer 2

Stanza 2 had me in hysterics. I really wasn't expecting it at all! "Laugther's tax" is something I would gladly pay.

I read this poem half a dozen times.

How do you do this?  

Answer 3

A fine meal you have served... seven courses of variety served on the finest china, that you removed and mixed together in a pot of jambalaya; inspiration provided by the opening ceremony of the China Olympics... a creation I can only admire, but could never envision.

Have you been in the word box again? Have you collected new pets? It took a dozen readings before I too could digest.

Answer 4

You, my dear Elys, are amazing, bright, and talented.  What would Y!A be if you were not here with us,