Hyphenate-me-with-you Send me some words you wrote, send me your words, fly them to me across the letter-tossed tempests, that invest
typed light where ellipses eclipse any talk of hope,

where doped humdrum hum day-to-Bay of Biscay grey, 
quips from lesser, un-kissed-by-gold, lips that seasick-up

unseasoned queasy reason – cheesy heresy. 

O say, say to me your words (read them close, close in my ear to me, make them so clear to me, so dear to me), serenade my storms in forms and sea-soothing songs of syntax and faxed facts to set my damp world afloat.

Inflame, punctuate then slake me, take me to the corners of your wild, Teutonic, imaginary plains and rain down your nouns upon me.

Get verbal to me spit out your herbal remedy massage me with messages in which the vestiges of Tuscan memories remain, don’t refrain from rapping out a Latin-prosed refrain… after this ellipse … put me on the train in a slow. Slow rush through your lush rural plurals and campagne campo-comparisons en route to information reports from airports in Pisa where the control of the word-tower leans towards the farewell cappuccinos where letters rise foam-flecked and checked-in to sad goodbyes, sky-write in-flight across blue Ital air with literal flare, if not flair, and cloud- sized, cotton-puffed happy, bye-bye, sighs
By Andy Johnson
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