Our parts of which we speak
by Bob McNeil

I enjoy the way your verbs
     taste, stroke and titillate
     my hut of flesh and its resident soul.

I endure the way your adjectives
     desire to describe the details of beauty.
     Adjectives are paintings of dawn:
     they strike sulphur,
     but they do not emblazon my vision with brilliance.

I revere the nouns that name
     the person, place and thing that you are.
     Every appellation I use provides
     another reference to the benevolence of you.

I hate the pronouns assigned to design ourselves,
     for enwrapping yourself in pink
     won’t disguise the cries of your mannish side
     and my anima is pregnant with a passion to reproduce.

I appreciate the conjunction that you have grown to be.
     You are the “And” that facilitates my spirit’s state
     By using the adhesion of compassion.

I adore you for the prepositions that grant these facts:
     I am on a bed of beatitude with you.
     We do what we want for joy’s geysers,
     experiencing satisfaction after the flow.

I titter at the interjections
     we use as illustrations of our jubilation.
     The exclamations are sillier
     than children chortling on a carousel.

I assert adverbially,
     both you and I have become
     rather pledged to the notion
     of cherishing an emotion
     without using its word.
     Soundlessly appreciating that thoughtful space,
     waiting for language to transport the topic,
     our best sentiments on commitment are expressed.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I compose poetic stun guns and Tasers, weapons for the downtrodden in their battle against the opprobrious. My work is dedicated to one cause—justice.

IMAGE: “The Mountain” by Ed Ruscha (1998).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Bob McNeil was influenced by the Beats and the Dadaists. Furthermore, even after all these years of being a professional illustrator, spoken word artist and writer, he still hopes to express and address the needs of the human mosaic.

PHOTO: Bob McNeil (left) with novelist Walter Mosley.