Today's poem is by Elena Karina Byrne
O Mouth FableWhat can be shown, cannot be said.
Wittgenstein, from Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
It darkens in the bride
of God's groom, taking nouns
with it, intimate
dark part. Feeling part.
O Obedience like horse
trained to the bit, mouth made. Heresy. Here. Say
the mouthy to the bombast in secret.
Hum, Hem and Haw
Pout, wry and yes, gift-horse it.
In yearn under the all-need: the language-place, vivid, vivid mirror,
of content you wound, sound and feed. Keep
thou slurred vernacular oral, please.
The means to mouth, to put words into, is yours. Such rivering-red back-talk.
As laugh on the wrong side, wide open
head in the lion's, yes, a movable feast and equivalent silence where the heart
Where it muffins, where bees
softly blunder, pass phrase for phrase. The mouth
gave rise to the legend of mourning, mother-sick. And wit for the reply,
wet, still sexes first. A mouth once
ante-roomed defiance and luck, spilled
all over the polished floor.
Spits the image back, spirits away animals and children: loophole
now yarns a cock and bull story, rivers itself to its
we certainly there fable:
bazoo, muzzle, orifice, aperture, kisser,
she/he having, in
the open boat rowing of air, a sense of the world at bay,
a narrative of birds, swine-sow speech, a goldfish swim just under
the tongue such
slavery of taste, of hothouse
O, still tells & tells the lies best of us.
Copyright © 2007 Elena Karina Byrne All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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