It's not words per se he peels from the air.
It's imperative Gibberish, forceful convolutions.
The front vowel "e" in see, tree, Daddy.
Over and over, with little regard for modulation
but almost identical in tenor and timbre, volume.
"e!," "e!," "e!," spliced on some Exultation Reel,
like a song long-distance swimmers repeat stroke
after stroke in their waterlogged minds.
Berlin can't rattle off the word, steam, but he's
breaking ground on ice chips and slivers of phonemes.
His tongue is starting to shove declarations, so it's only
a matter of seconds before he's gargling scaffolded utterances
and phrases mimed to our positive feedback?
How pregnant the now of his affricatives, how urgent
the "tch, tch, tch" of his future forays with words
like toy, church, judge, and eventually, torsion.
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.