I have surrendered my voice. Almost. What I say is carefully measured in the words of others. Always. It isn’t until there is absolute understanding that my voice is recaptured. It takes at least two else it remains a vacuum.
A tonal shift could take place for humor’s sake. I got a vacuum cleaner for Christmas. Is that really what the thing is? A vacuum cleaner? Clean the vacuum. I really cannot comprehend that. Hence, is my mind empty? Hardly. Therefore, the mind is not a vacuum.
What if I put the tube of the vacuum cleaner into my mouth? I mean, even if my tongue is ripped out, there are other ways to attempt communication. Here, allow me to suck (your) tongue. Do (you) feel that?
Let (us) wiggle tongues. Wag tongues? Stick tongues out of mouths. Blow spit. Swap spit. Spit-spit-spit. Words. Suck. And suck hard. Suck, smack and eat my tongue. And crack teeth.
The Disembodied Silence Speaks (slk c. 2003)
I, yes body
wink between off and on
after all, the cat flickered
but I do not know what big words
mean the meaning of meaning
and the naming of parts
The group crit bespoke of excess
eff words too harsh become the subject
let me inside you
yet poets die
when left eyes offend
the consequence of control
only near death not death!
come into the light though the dead
and a big word bubbled from the CO2
yes head says a kiss holds poets together
those who figure
like Escher puppies called to come downstairs
run to the bottom of the stairs ascending
who wag and wobble the happiest pants and yips
‘let me come inside you’
enter the crit! no!
you are no body!
this that and whiching beyond the offs and ons
take no offense until blood
for a cube lives when like a tree
heard ejaculating a chorus of birds
a busload of kids disembark into the park
and play ball!
oh! sweet misery, tell yes body
do we need no body?