every word from your mouth
is a hammer driving nails into my skull
drive like a truck driver, oil-stained cap
naked chrome women on the mudflaps, 10-4, good buddy
every breath out
the fall of the hammer against a nail
embedding itself in wood
it’s own act of will of volition speaking
squeaking as it crawls into the grain
remember when we were kids
and tried to drive in a nail with a single blow
into wood that was probably meant for
something other than keeping us amused
how many galvanized skewers did we ruin
bending them into right angles
or that time
you chased me across the street with a golf club
blood ran down my face
and mixed with the taste of candy cigarettes
you came for me again with a bat
days after the first stitches came out
the sound in my head was like a hammer
hitting an anvil and those words squeaked
as they crawled into my brain
and they said
Words and Feathers 
Whoa!
Don’t worry, it’s mostly confabulation.
You took a lot of risks there — the rolling, hammering language esp in the first stanza. Great to read.
Thanks! I’m glad something came across. It’s probably two separate poems there but they dovetailed nicely.
Yes, there was a shift between the first stanza and the rest, but it was fine. Sort of like the recovery after getting beaten in the head.
Powerful stuff
Thank you, sir.
Damn. Getting nailed never pounded words so potently. Bravo!
(PR)
Thanks, DD! Always happy to own up to a potent pounding.
Ouch. Such imagery. I really hope the memory here is mis-remembering.
Buts and pieces 😉
You nailed this! Hammers are never to be taken lightly.