oopsie daisy baby

I bet I'll never be stopping
the spilling of overgrown words
They fall out of my mouth, roll off my hand,
and who knows where they land but
I'll be saying them anyway, everyday always

Though they may seem not to fit,
though at the trying on of them
they seem too much meant for the sophisticate,
their pith and marrow fill my own bones
and make me feel strong and sharp and able,
helping me pretend that I am wise and
can handle the handfuls of whatnot,
can step over the wretched tripping clods
that let me forget-them-not,
that trip my baby feet and steal my baby breath

Funny though
how someone with such a supposed arsenal at her disposal
will dance around, weapon in hand,
that which she really means--
See me dancing and maybe I'm kicking up ramparts
to stall the running of marrow that matters
to the bones of my heart--

But who knows
maybe one day I'll be dancing up to the top of the walls
some strange melody lulling me to sense of safety
and with me singing away
like the Shakespearean apes,
I'll accidentally say everything I mean