Elevated Language (Don’t Cut It)

elevated language don’t cut it:

your music’s too baroque,
the bog of it is too much
swamp to cross; quit
sending me
the long way around
just to fetch eggs.

elevated language don’t cut it:

why do you keep explaining
how things spin? just say
youv’e got yourself stuck
on a bone-strewn plain
and be done. any horror
will take care of itself.

elevated language don’t cut it:

not when the cadence of women
murmuring about justice
while at work is perfect,
not while the creative frenzy-cursing
of the just-injured is perfect,
not while the rhythm
of checkout line chatter
is staccato and glory-filled and 
perfect. 

elevated language don’t cut it

when such plain spoken melodies
can already conjure this everyday earth 
so damn well.