Logorrhea

I like the sound
of a word when it
page-dives
from the tip of my tongue.

Take cerulean for instance,

it makes a right-turn squeal
in the middle of a spectrum
and crashes itself --bang
head on into Indigo's palette

then, they push and shove
until one of them
falls off my bottom lip.

You try it,

feel the word -- Cyrillic,

notice how
it makes your tongue
roll back as if it was
a woman's eye,

you know
that show of white when
she's hating you.

Now, try saying existentialism

pay attention to the way
it tangles in the blanket
of your teeth, kicking
and flailing its feet
trying to get out.

Then, there's logorrhea --
she's the mother of them all
she drops whelps everywhere,

there's no word-control in her
vocabulary they go on and on and…
well, you get
the picture.

Still, words are
hershey, zagnut
and snicker bars to my sight

I like --

the look of them
as they melt and slide along
the lines of a surface;

-- hearing
their snorts and grunts
while looking for somewhere
to go.