Squawks and Squeaks

I recall well enough the first time you came, but when, well...
When I write it down it ain't the same
You was a blur in purples and curves and colors and swerves that words can't explain...
A roaring metaphor without a name
And you don't care a thing what songs mean...
All you wanted was someone to sing for you

And you know me, I'm not proud, I like the way words sound
So I get excited when you come around
Cuz we could talk in sqwawks and squeaks and grunts and purrs and slurs and things
Anytime we feel a need to speak

And the truth might as well could be Greek
Made-up language and law terminology

Some people waste their days so strangely, writing dictionaries
For folks who never bothered trying to read
And end up feeling lost, dismayed, and shocked to hear us talk this way
They make up prayers that beg that we'll be saved

But we can't help but sing in our sleep
Imagined syllabic new sceneries
Until the best of our species grow wings
We're stuck in these meaningless meetings

Human beings (you and me) like to sound things out
Can we ever get to that again?
Where our talk was all gobbledeegeeks, and pops and shrieks
And clicks and eeks!
It seems the sweetest poetry to me