Did I ever tell you about the time I learned the word
It was a dream come true
let me tell you.
Like my brain had been
parking break disengaged,
bolt of electricity
engaging my existential eccentricity
with the hydroelectric elasticity
of new discovery.
noun, plural portmanteaus or portmanteaux
1. a case or bag to carry clothing in while travelling, especially a leather trunk or suitcase that opens into two halves.
My cognition began conscientiously
Pleasure in place of regrets.
Doors opening into an immensity
whose propensity (overwhelming probability)
for artistic lucidity
is the infinite tapestry on which
to dazzle the frazzled
of Mother Nature’s
Truculently surreptitious in my vicious attempts
at resurrecting archaic vestiges, like beldam and adjutant.
Syntax to make you squeamish.
I swear I’m speaking every word
why would I ever call the glass half
when I can discard the clichés
earned on a pretty penny
by surpassing platitudes and bromides
with the brain-mine of “prosaism.”
Misery loves company
and all that.
My vernacular is prone to schism,
vocabulary devoid of diction,
a dictionary stranger than
Orwell and Hemingway were probably just witless, right?
Only trite writers eschew
(or at least that’s the less-than-wholesome justification for my own addiction)
but barring some sort of
I don’t suspect I’ll be able
to pay back these literary gods
the pension owed for my
and I’m beginning to fall.
just look at all the fabulous different ways
to say absolutely
nothing at all.