In Poetry & Prose:  I Eat Words For Breakfast

In Poetry & Prose: I Eat Words For Breakfast

August 5, 2018 0 By Stacy Mojica

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
 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
 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
every word.

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
 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
 by words
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
 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.