In Poetry & Prose: I Eat Words For BreakfastAugust 5, 2018
I Eat Words for Breakfast
I can only taste words
when I speak ones that have been written.
Thought ﬂavors them like salt. And they are yummy. Even “yummy” sounds yummy. Fuck cellar door. Cellar door has no fucking idea in it. But yummy… I can chew on yummy.
I like to see what happens to words that have ideas in them. Listen to how they feel. Feel how they taste. Suck on them, and roll them around in my mouth.
there is some depth in those. Filled only halfway and daring you to guess if they’re half full or half empty and daring you to ﬁnish ﬁlling them yourself while each stroke of sound is pulled into the air, melting like sugar in iced tea.
especially poetry, where meaning seeps
through words that are only
a vehicle for their expression (there are diﬀerent kinds of tea, you know).
so we don’t have to wonder where meaning resides
because it pervades through us through
Those words are like cotton candy in my mouth. A split second — and they are gone into my tongue. Then I’m sure I can still taste them even after I’ve stopped eating. Then I think I’m okay, but then I get a sugar rush!
This melting, is like when I go to see a movie in theaters and when the movie is over everyone gets up and leaves right away and every time, every time, I think they’re all stark raving mad because I need to sit, and absorb the light-sound-transformation that just happened before my eyes like butter into popcorn. And more importantly, the ideas conveyed therein. Those last longer than the popcorn smell stuck to my clothes.
Words are so powerful, in fact
that we invented the idea of magic spells that
control the uncontrollable
with pre-thought speech.
And is it a coincidence that spells are so close to how we spell a word?
Spell it. Spell it out. Spill your wwwooooorrrrddddss out.
It has something to do with stitching words together.
It seems so,
taken for granted. But the pattern works so well, because
words do so much, because
we do so much
with words because of words.
They must be magic.
I eat words with my eyes when I read them.
I eat words with my pen when I write them.
I eat words so fast I choke sometimes when I type them.
I eat words with my soul when I write poetry.
Someone recites to me and: did you like that poem? All I can say is: marshmallows.