A — Bazouki
A start, at least: this oxen-headed beast
lows, whatever that means, presumably ‘moos’,
no reason why it shouldn’t ‘aaaaah’, broadcast
across time its news: that cries can become cues,
that marks can make meaning stick around,
that aleph’s horns can become legs, its nose
upturned, is crowned, incised into the ground,
cave wall, clay tablet, goatskin, or this paper,
unlit pixels — a scar, a score, a wound,
a sound of vapour, leaving mouth agape, a
phonetic chorus, Babel karaoke,
distilling into alpha beta torpor.
Jameson’s chokey pens me, my lines are hokey,
racked upon the word-hoard, unreleased:
The Strange Case of the Vanishing Bazouki.