"Pringles is a very laid-back company. Originally, they wanted to make tennis balls. But when the truck showed up full of potatoes, they just said, "Fuck it, cut 'em up." Mitch Hedberg

10 April 2012

Day 10: The Evolution of Language

Feeling the burn, feeling raw for sure, but very appreciative for the support of my readers, especially strangers who detoured here during their busy days. And, like the blog title's insinuation: working with whatever materials are at hand.

The Evolution of Language

The alphabet passes through many forms;
it is conjured like lava
from an opening in the body—
names are named or unnamed,
lost or stolen articles are listed:
what is buried, what is embalmed,
what is burned, what is fed in strips to the crows and vultures.

After they are staunched,
they speak softly
and, slow to anger, grow red two days later
louder, now, and somehow still fresh as a kill.

Over a few months, the language turns 
a ruddy rouge, tinged with brown;
not shouting, now, but speaking carefully
like a woman into a microphone before an all-male Congress.

Who would ever disparage an alphabet
that turns from red to silver?
For a little while, at least,
It could never be misunderstood.
It would never be ignored.

To a linguist, at least,
it is sad how these alphabets can pass away within only one or two years of their creation,
leaving no more than a texture; a language divined only by fingertip.

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