I went mad in your house of words,
purposely mad, so you would
give me asylum.
I went mad to undergo
a therapy of syllables.
But you prescribed crosswords,
anagrams for sleeping pills.
That didn’t work.
You bought a Scrabble game.
I juggled the white pieces,
maybe a hundred times.
But my seven letters
were all vowels.
When you spoke again,
my sorrow turned deaf:
I couldn’t hear you smile.
…
Words never evade you,
you can build anything.
You can build a whole hour
with only seven seconds.
Framed with consonants,
we resumed play, no vowels
in my seven letters.
I saw you do wonders without vowels.
Let’s give up, I said,
but you cried: Truth AND Consequences!
I rocked shut to sounds.
You challenged me to Charades.
I agreed. This
would be my syllable-cure.
Tableau One: I licked a saucer of milk.
You cried: CAT!
Tableau Two: I was stubborn as a mule.
You cried: ASS!
Tableau Three: I gave you my smile, like a prize.
You cried: TROPHY!
You cried: CAT-ASS-TROPHY?
You cried: CATASTROPHE!
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