fiddle-faddle

fiddle-faddle, that’s my name:
spouting nonsense is my shame.
drove me from my lands and nation,
here to live as a crustacean,
without followers who follow
in a shack in sao paulo,
til the man says, “you skedaddle!”
i’ll indulge in fiddle-faddle.

stuff and nonsense, that’s my life:
if you doubt, just ask my wife.
with brazilian clams i’m dwelling,
both miswriting and misspelling,
hating air and breathing water,
envious of eel and otter —
til the man says, “that’s enough!”
i’ll have nonsense with my stuff.

linguacide’s my undertaking:
bending words until they’re breaking.
try this next one on for size —
seven tulips are the prize —
it’s my right and heritage
to mismangle verbiage.
bye for now. enjoy the ride.
you just witnessed

linguacide

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2 Thoughts to “fiddle-faddle

  1. Frankly, you have given the lingua franca, a good old fashioned spanking!

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