Lip-sync, lip-sunk
My lips and voice-box had a fall out,
last Tuesday week,
on route to a verbal deliverance.
Sounds plucked on vocal cords,
swerved, uncontrollably,
like lemmings on space-hoppers
down flooded ‘Cavity Canyons’.
Some crashed into remains of ‘Road Kill’,
festering between chewing sites
filled in by a fusion of silver and decay.
The lemmings that made it,
cascaded down ‘Phlegm Falls’
into a raging whirlpool
that spilt over white cliffs.
Power lines to the speech formulation flaps
were sabotaged by Parkinson’s Pirates,
only allowing a low wat, wat, wattage through.
The result was a varying narrow gap.
The steely determination of these vocal conformists
forced some words through,
only to be choked at birth.
Prepubescent vocals that failed to find a way,
smacked into the back of these flaps,
landing spread eagled,
drowned below the gum line.
Words ‘lip-sync’, like lip-sunk.
So today I greet with phenomenally functioning,
flap formulating, calculatingly clear,
vocal violin of delectable deliverance,
until Parkinson’s pop-up pirates pounce.
© Phil Golding 03/09
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