A menagerie, legged, lettered beasties, feasting on their fellows animate in their multiplicity, until a single phrase, lion-like arches its back and roars. Every word has a history, distance of time and dissonance of meaning, layered as a symphony, quiet here… then louder, prouder, crowding, always puttering, fluttering, muttering a sound in the background rhyming the timing until a beat can be heard. Word. No word is alone. Each one carries a mystery, consonant with countless stories where precedents rule, valences cover and reveal, vowels and avowals and row upon row of interacting lines; They form a grid of meaning. “Talk plain,” they say. “Be clear.” “Say one thing at a time.” What? Don’t be ironic, iconic, literary or literal, littoral, bordering on the insane? Am I inane? Or does every hue color the canvas, every hew reveal a different plane of thought and every thought reverberate off of the cacophony of meanings? One note words. Plain talk. Easy to say, “speak plain.” Easy to think I can’t know you, can’t see you, can’t be you unless you use simple words, my words, by-words of familiarity. My words are long and drip with weight, meaning soaked-in from freight of years and heavy use, like sponges worn with care. What I want to say won’t fit in one note words.