“Go Look It Up” it yells.
A sound I cannot silence.
My brain demands to be fed
more than three times a day.
I try to vary its intellectual intake
utilizing an array of information.
A cacophony of ideas for brain cells
which like to have its ears tickled as well.
I love the sound of words.
The way they dance and play.
How a slip of the tongue one day
might find its proper place the next.
Reader Me tries to literally hear an author speak.
Screamer, Storyteller, Whispering confidant.
The emotional dialect lies between the lines.
My job is to discover who is at play.
For me, words are a playground which I
climb around until I understand them all.
And when I’m stumped, I ask for help.
So Shug, dear poet, what the hell is “smurry”?