Eye and I                                                                                      in

bind you seriatim

be you high-siditty or simple;

we tear Mistress Aural from your air -                           the

say, Master Oral – Sit there:

Derrière.

A lingual lip-lock,

I strike you                                                                                air

soundless on sight.

Look me up, look me down:

– Mongol rock it! –

Or your old right-to-left

or left-to-right…                                                       wisps

Can’t help it! Can you?

that reflex follow –

Call it R-E-S-P-E-C-T,                                                                                    Aretha

but no need to spell it out for me.

I’m your religion, Old School, uh-huh! (the part you read, if not believe.)

Me? I’m the sin-original

‍ ‍Saccadic cultist – Ummm!

‍um!-um!… my rhetoric sweet smoke!                                                          Will

Br-eeeeeeathe! a word of me; you can’t do otherwise –

so to speak ; )

Sans-serif or stroked, these curves

span the scope of your thought…

your vision…

I’m a grapheme-ical phenom, that’s me!                                  Maya

You doubt I’m your Alpha

“and all-that” to-the-Omega?

In stone, on screen, for all time, or on paper –

I’m built to last and fit to print:

No pas’ been passed I can’t reframe –

No future’s writ

that I don’ name…

James Spencer, an emerging writer, of Detroit, lives with his family in Switzerland. Currently,
teaches public speaking, Université de Lausanne, Exec MBA. Street/Web cred: his work is @
Sonic Boom’s 5th vispo contest gallery and La Piccioletta Barca.