Dadirdydebil

          Now Reader, hold fast--you're in for a crude awakening!
          It's time we got this show underway da udder way
          and were together, you and me, all-one at last:
          for I'm the soldier in an all-out war
          who, upon learning how to read REDRUM
          in the writing on the wall, sees
          what he hadn't seen before--
          how we all get away with murder;
          I'm the once-and-future poet
          who, upon climbing her poet-tree 
          goes out on on a limb, unforks her tongue,
          and tells the whole world her storked story;
          I'm the rabbit in the screen cage
          who, by projecting from reel to real,
          animates the loony New Age,
          then hops out cagily and says,
          THAT'S NOT ALL, FOLKS!;
          I'm the dei-man, the Sissy-fuss Elf,
          the soul's survivor of the Fall 
          (R.I.P., from my p.o.v., is a non-stop R.E.M.
          where every D.O.A. is a V.I.P.);
          I sing and dance this girdy-birdy
          in every un-un's womb-sleep. 
          For I'm Dadirdydebil, don't you know?
          I word the world together by try-all and eros,
          plucking appellations off the Tree of Know-how
          and creating doublebolical meanings everywhere
          -- O to my ear to err is erotic!
          As a born lyre I'm forever being told:
          OH KNOW YOU DON'T! YOU SHOULD NO BETTER                                                         THAN THAT!
          WIPE THAT SIMILE OFF YOUR FACE, RIGHT NOW!
          But that's a rite -- isn't it? -- we all should urn
          (I'd be lying if I said I was lying).
          For with laws as walls,
          and innocence in the sense the allest wall,
          what else is a human being human to do?
          Binary thinking puts us in a bind
          and makes us all pair-annoyed, and 
          unless we lose this chain of thought, 
          we won't have a legacy to stand on.
          As for me, I'm just (pardon the fun) keying on
          where it says, LOCK! DON'T TOUCH!
          And such places, mind you, I'd never break in-two,
          nor would I ever pryde myself in, either
          -- I've got more-roles, after all!
          I prefer, instead, going behind the seen
          where see-sins circle in an endless psychle
                     and every moment's a peek experience.
          And the best way in, I've found, is in-word
          (by the spy-role stare-way) where
          once past the Guard and into the Den
          I spy w/ my mind's I sth beginning w/ Y,
          I spy w/ my mind's I sth beginning w/ O,
          I spy w/ my mind's I sth beginning w/ U --
          beyond the sly-test doubt the greatest show on earth!
          For don't you see? Everyman's a womb-man!
          Just look below your waste... remember how
          Dadadnotsobad, man-nipple-elated by whore-moans,
          got Mamanotsogood oaverly excited?
          Remember how, in a flash, ex-static
          at the thought of being human, you went
          merrily merrily merrily down the tubes
          to catch forty winks in the Waist Land?
          And remember how, bursting at the seems,
          you ex-seeded yourself and finally up-peered,
          ruddy or not, an 8-lb. prime-evil mothersucker?
          You see (anyone can see it's a conceit) how
          I'm always being re-membered for my Body?
          This isn't just idol talk, either:
          bearing the Cross of the Truth-of-fiction,
          I write wrongs based on hysterical fact, 
          make whatever's latent blatent,
          and say what I mean mirrorly by meaning what I say
          (You can, too -- if you say you can't, it's cant).
          For with each syllable both a silly label & a mything link,
          what's a word worth if not a thousand pictures?
          The evidence is in Eve's dance with Adam --
          in which the phallus says, DON'T FAIL US!
          and the uterus says, UTTER US!
          and the fetus says, FEED US!
          and the carrion says, CARRY ON!
          -- and when all's sad and dumb there's no place like OM.

          Now there are some who say, IT'S SATANIC!
          But I say, IT'S A TONIC...
          For I make a conscious Joyce
          to demonstrate my demon's trait:
          I enjoy pulling off the tab -- boo! --
          and letting the hole thing come
          (the pleasure's all mine, and what's mine is yours)
          out into the open where (O, pun it!)
          pubic hair goes public.
                     -- For not having anything to hide
          is one's greatest treasure!
          But be aware -- a new sense 
          can be a real nuisance
          (if Saul can turn Paul, warrior
          may turn worrier, or therapist the rapist).
          For in order to get from HA-HA!
          to UH-OH!
          to A-HA!,
          one has to go through an awe-full "ache."
          Then once your I's grow Y's, you stop
          asking the reason why -- you just
          mind your own peace and cues.
          Ha-ha! The yoke's on you!
          This motherlode's been unloaded!
          Do you God it now?






          _______________________________________
          The power of the Word is brought to heal
          only by a daring feet of the Imagination.
          But remember -- toeing somebody else's line
          is self-defeeting, unless it tickles your fancy
          or touches the depths of your sole.
          Reader, kneel thyself.

Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.