A Castle Made of Words/Every Word A Palace
I built you a castle made of words. “I” & “love” & “you” are carved in the foundation stones with my tongue.
I spit words like bullets or butterflies from the turret built of “stone” and “grey” and “rough” and “blood from last year’s war” (grey spattered stones marked with vein drain), and watch them zip through the air, or float to the ground. Kind words float; unkind words rip through cheeks like bullets.
“Wake”, “tttttttt”, and “apple”. “Leaves”, “rocks”, “trees”. “Czizt”, “seqz”, and “tttttt”, and “TTTTT”.
The Wordsmith speaks and sometimes sings an endless strain of words that fall, letter by letter, to the ground.
O
x
y
g
e
n.
En
tr
o
py.
A cascade, like a waterfall (the letters of the word “waterfall” fall over the rushing waters, a new name for a very old thing). The Wordsmith gives names to all things.
For those concepts, for those things, which lie beyond words (ineffable, effable), the Wordsmith sings and speaks and says:
tttttttt
