What Nimrod Should Have Known

The word
like wood
is porous & prone
to splinter
The tongue
which is called mother
answers to a hundred
other names
The stutterer
child of slow illocution
of swift permutation
utters an equivalent truth
Even wrapped in
Eve’s garments
even wielding the sword of
Adam’s violent vernacular
The Jenga puzzle of speech
totters, glottal-stopped
in the throat of
forthcoming & forgotten
On the lips of the
blotted horizon
where the eminent & the imminent
capsize into reef & wave
And the twin pillars
of the crushed tower
jut forth from the sea: one boasting
Silence, the other Cacophony.

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