Our words can’t be faulted, exactly,
so fine with us if you hear us yammer,
or if you may hark to us when we yammer—
our multisyllabics that dangle out,
stopping the gaps between our buttons,
forcing our buttons off, and
bouncing them, breaking the threads
that fasten them. When piqued, you try
to hurl your pique at us, in dotted lines
shot from the pits of your pupils—
but you can’t malice blithe ones, nor
the grandiloquent!—we who take ease
in great heaps of grandiloquent thread.
-2004
