Yammer yammer

Yammaa yammmmaaa
Shucka shucka
Peeeeoolll peeeollllleee
Backa backa to the window ova me.
You Be thinking that this makea no sense.
You be wrong.
Reeesssaa reason is you bound by something
Someone else-a wrote.
Go back to the kindling you call a manifesto.
Go eat your tinfoil metaphors.
I’ll be stacking a syringe with croaking syllables;
I’ll be waving my chicken-pock arms like a smelterweight champion
and launching fists at your pulp prisons graffiti-ed with false words

 

© 2007 Delwood Finch