This poem is driven by phonetics, not meaning. Many might argue that this body of writing makes no sense. However, I would argue that it makes the same kind of ‘no sense’ across the board, which gives us a lot more structure than you may be willing to accredit for. You see, there’s something powerful happening here if you don’t allow yourself to be high on your horse — dorsing the source. It’s admirable, having confidence in nonsense. And before I give another bar, I might as well star the car righ harrr.

Look out for the clapped feeks, in search of prippled pleats,
Devouring fan seats — from the lovingly minced meats.
Because the tip hip of my hat, lipped for war-door gnats,
We generously laughed at the yippy yigh bibbled bath.

From meatballs at the call, fickling for the fall,
We wear the loopy tune, to the gum of my noon.
For he fundled a fly, in the night of a lie,
At ocean beef, tucked teat in tit toodly teeth.

Fish, noodles, ginger ales, and Fantas,
Skipping to my loodle like Santa.
Slippery knickery grasshippers and hoppers—
Don’t play with those yodel-lee stick knockers.

Meat, Meat, MEAT at the crunch,
The beat-punch, tongued hunch lunch.
Save Ori, the tea-taste humble bum blee,
Outside the place-key of tumble-dum storily.

They fired a gall to the stall, so I iced mice to my galls.
There was no guide-guise guys, only swirl-skirts in disguise.
Spooky, tooky, and big boofy bookie,
Rub-a-dub, run-run noogie.

---

Author’s Note

This piece sits near other writing I’ve done that privileges cadence and language in obscure methods of communication.

• Everyone Communicates, But Fists Still Connect
• Poetic Prayers: When Broken Faith Finds A Strong Voice

---

Literarily, this kind of writing is often described as nonsense verse, poetry that emphasizes phonetics and mouthfeel.