Onomatopoeism
Listen to the
Tik
Tik
Tik
Tik Tok
BeeBop
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
Boom!
Kathoom!
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
Muahahaha!
Ahahahehe!
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
The
Biff!
Thwip!
Pow!
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