In a cento
Do not sense creation
Do not feel that i am making poetry
Shuffling words around
And changing words by a click
Sieving through a grand choice
Like a surgeon, i cut the body of language
Asunder and saw stray word bricks together
Into a Frankenstenian creation but i bed to
differ with Viktor Frakensterin
I will breathe sensation into
The pallid limbs
Michael Witkowski
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tayloring-like-frankensten/
