Sat, 10/12/2013 - 14:07 -- wolf14s

Listen to the




Tik Tok


Drip Drop

Ring Ring

Banana Phone!

Tipping at the tip-top of a

High drop off the

Grand canyon of sky

Beebockety pop

Drop Top and drumroll

In my infantine head

‘Cause when I was born

There was a timpani beating through my soft-spot

I was high-steppin’-head-up-in-the-sky-beautiful

And was gonna let the world know

So I yelled

I rolled my head back and screamed a scream that rose and fell like

A supernovation of inter-womb dreams

This world was mine, my sovereign nation and people were gonna be told


As a toddler, I was the kid with the constant open mouth

Spouting something between a decibel level of

“Shut up” and “Get out”

I was the kid who’d wake you up at night

My blonde head streaking past below eye height

Pretending to be some kind of racecar or jumbo jet

Nnneeeeuuuu! I had my own Doppler Effect!


I popped out with vocal chords size extra-extra-large

Crashing together before I even opened my eyes

The same cords that were always chastised for their cries and their noise

My voice was my toy

My playmate, my accomplice in

Kleptomaniacal mischief

Which, if you think about it

Is kind of ironic

‘Cause a mouth this size

Can’t lie


I talk like the fourth of July

Since the time I was five



Tick Tackety

Crackalacka-C-Clack Clack

Of castanets on the necks of

Rocks and

Rolling stones down a hill

And a trill of evil

Word-song flows strong in my veins

‘Cause where some people have angels and demons

I’ve got words

And most of the time this side wins

He’s the one that spins my head all around

Leaving me prone on the ground while the woods resound

With his laughter



He’s the one who screwed my voice over so I-I stammer and

R-repeat words until m-my-my mouth catches up with my brain

Leaving me and the pain he inflicts to talk alongside

Good old George Six

Along with the halting voice

He first gave me my diagnosis

“I’m sorry son, but you have Onomonopeosis” the

Disability to speak in

A whisper

And a strange attachment to the words that mean nothing but sound


I remember reading comic books

Feeling their thin time-worn semi-torn newspaper pages turn

In baby-fat fingers

Mimicking with mushy fists





Of superman sentences sliding together

Out of my open mouth in a banshee’s scream

Just like The Romantics

Enunciating the things I like about you

From behind the ancient beaten drum-set

The staccato tones that I will never forget

Or let anyone take away from me.


My noise is what metronomizes

This prize existence that I’ve been given

And I wouldn’t forget it for anything

So please don’t tell me to be quiet

Just don’t try to make me “Shut up” or

“Get out”

‘Cause y’all,

I love a lot of things

A whole lot of things

I love my voice

I love my sound

My angelic, demonizing words

That spurs back into my mind as I look over this crowd

That guess what people,

I’m loud

And I’m proud


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