The Room

I saw the Wailers (Bob Marley's band) last night and it was incredible.
I did not take off my shirt though.

Clubbin'

The room was alive with conversation.
Snippets of sentences,
Words with only individual meaning,
And the murmur of the growing crowd
Strike me like a cacophonous punch.
With the chill of night on my shoulders
And the clashing sweaty heat pulsing from
The room, I step through the threshold.

So many bodies, people packed in
Like pythons in an orgy.
My feet draw me closer,
Nonchalantly through the room.
Over crunching plastic cups,
Kicking discarded bottles and PBR tallboys.

The dancing, steaming mass
Drawing close.
A shoulder against my own
A hand across my thigh
It is a disarming feeling.

When music calls, disregard your anxiety.
Shuck it like a sweat soaked shirt.
Bare-chested, now become the crowd.
Dance with eyes closed.
Dance with soul out.

Revised, Dining on Diction

Dining on Diction

Did you know, I like to eat odd things:
Secret, dusty things, kept between pages, sealed between covers,
Exotic conjugated and inflected things, possessing worldly flavors.
I never eat anything sissy like worms or boogers.
I eat words; lovely, tasty, inky, words.

Some words, like ‘Academic’, have tastes unique the world round.
You could call ‘Academic’, broccoli-esque.
Something you throw at your mother from your high-chair
And spit down the front of your clothes.
It drips with excessive preparation and care,
The buttery sauce ladled over to many-a-time.
It is soggy and overcooked, always.
I hate ‘Academic’

‘Periwinkle’, on the other hand, is scrumptious.
Spread it over your Bruschete and crumble it with feta.
Savory and sweet, the word melts in your mouth.
Warming your throat and clearing your sinuses,
It is medicinal and filling but watch the calories.
I could eat this ‘periwinkle’ all day long.

Nothing is more sublime than the interplay of words ala lime.
Let the syllables play on your palate. Savor their assonance,
Evaluate their meaning and critique their usage,
All with your tongue.

Disregard all of your mother’s manners and
Let juices run down your face, stain your Sunday clothes.
Grin ear to ear and show the world what you chew as you
Crunch and Munch. Make all of the noise you want.
Then pick your teeth in front of the company,
flick the Latinate suffix stuck between your teeth
across the table.

Did you know I eat odd things?
I do, indeed, I enjoy the pleasures of eating words.
I enjoy the rules of eating words,
None.