IF language is a virus

[rcathome]

I posted a version of this on my livejournal a few months back but I have revised it and I think it's finished.  I hope you enjoy the poem.


If language is a virus
then let me be sick with words

Brickitickatickibaaaaa

Feverish as a solar powered camel
raised on lagadadalia filibuster brownies and
rooo tooo tooo dooo bach a naileeyaaan
tonsil tribes chanting mass adorations
to the cancer lip mystics sweltering in my belly

afflicted with the zim zam oratomes
of cortisone squash regaling hoist grievous
from atop the wing tips of grand mammy ketchup’s
scab coated mountains.

This scattered vernacular is in my blood so
tonflicate your placebo linguistics
in the dim sum orchards and
let the mingo tushy hank meat go fink boodlin’
with Captain Kangaroo’s mimby

Put away your ointments!
Burn down your pharmacies of lard!
Keep me incurable! Maintain my disease!

beetle lick koink koink koink dinky whoop

This is my underground tunnel
my contravational gardenia, my Rabelais babble
attempting to scrabble reassemble
the raw sausage slip knot of kaboodle’s noozle

when scrotal vati-chori  brandishing
rancid hyper-dermics doused my diorama
in timbit viagra inoculating me with a silence
that stole my

[v     o     I     c     e]

That’s as clear as it’s gonna get
it’s all the brainwashing will allow
a few skim pimple ramblings pining for
 
the truth

 
is a fish, a roadrunner,
a Jehosaphat lip magician buried
beneath a suburb of menstrual log cabins
leaving me often incomprehensible
as sign language in the dark;

but I pray to my horse caller
all the pain that you carry might turn you interpreter,
translating my own grim sickle dollop
into a bridal touche that allows for viral collusion

for I am growing lonely
as a protein grease valet.
I’ve been wandering the Napolean barrios
in my summer solstice diaper
hoping to meet my eclipse.

Offer me your neck, I’ll give you my tongue
and the stuttering ducks of your gimp-ed vox
will turn into velveteen szechuan.
We’ll become winsome church hill turnstiles
slow dancing infections into the mouths of our gods

So if language is a virus
let us be sick with words
creating a blue cholera hyperbiblic
we can call our own.
A laisse fair dinkum picnicnicpic
where we get to play
pin the tall tale ya
on the glossalallia
until all that destroys us is
dissolved

chor leavey nort twilling
the ajuncter phiblic
twit biddler
feck feck
feck feck
feck feck
gawwwwwwwww

[Sean]

I feel all polar bear after a good meal for you. Bowteefull!

[Chris Gilpin]

I feel infected with word flu pandemic.