I have a surge on
babelogue scripture in the mother tongue I love the weight the rhythm the cadence of the
words as they accost the senses a cymbal’s clash
the lightning flash
the rap of the machine gun fuse in the imagination is this some kind of magic?
is there substance to words? how can they fill me up?
I’m fit to burst with the teeming spilling explosion of them out
there in the world there are tiny silences little
gaps begging to be filled in here
there’s a cacophony of sound and colour screaming to get out my
head is a rain forest a railway station an
ocean reef I surf on a
tsunami of words crashing onto the snow white page
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