Exhausted yawp, or yawn

The poem longs to be exhausted
The poem longs to be compact and infinite
(The poem longs to be speared my treatment)
The poem is a filter of silences
The poem knows the transcendent cannot be signified
The poem knows the transcendent does not cross does not in fact transcend
The poem knows what is and what isn't
The poem knows it's easy to see this for nothing is hidden
The poem loves the hole that envelops the poem and devours the poet
The poem loves the hole the poet passes through to bring the poem to the world
The poem touches it lightly
The poem accounts for as much as ninety-five percent of universal mass
(That's a lot)
The poem abhors mirrors and cell phones
The poem injects itself into the earth around a termite home
The poem is a pesticide unnatural and potentially harmful when breathed
The poem abhors the word "death" in a poem
The poem abhors "God" and "soul" and "capital"
The poem has death wrapped around its voiceless vowels
The poem does not age but advances
The poem becomes its opposite before butchering both poles slabs of cow
The poem picks its moments from its monster nose
The poem is relentless
The poem could just as easily pass out of existence
The poem comes to a stop without stopping
The poem is a stop sign in halogen headlight brilliant red glazed with rain water the white letters shivering starry-night-like at the darkness
The poem stops the poet in his animal tracks
The poem bites back, ass, and ear
The poem touches it lightly
The poem splits its head to reveal a volcano
The poem never itself erupts it exists ever on the verge of eruption
The poem races the poem traces the poem displaces
The poem itself aces high will not judge the collateral damage of war
The poem puts "do or die" in quotes
The poet can't resist
The poet could slip and fall and break his neck rushing down the stairs to pen and pad
And the poem would not shudder the poem would not blink
The poem goes on
The poem longs to be exhausted
The poet is a flamethrower fueled of the sun
The poet is a two-dimensional figure a zero on the page
The poem downloads at its own furious nonchalant pace
The poet wants to burn the poem to disk
The poem couldn't care less