speech
        is a slithering
bloom caught like a
        snake in my
cavities. fading mosaic
        of butterfly wing
gulped by
        peristalsis.         incomplete.
push mouth meat
        against the wharf
of tissue.         gagged
        articulate this failed by
the muscle motionless
        in my mouth.
having thrown myself on
        the pleated ridge of molars,
prickled tongue i gave
        to you to slice.         talk
is a sickly moth
        i couldn’t
set free
        when asked to
slick this flesh
        off clean and
crochet my skin
        into a leather dictionary.
translate the meaning
        of life.         become
the alchemist of my mother
        tongue.         glug
pills of answer me.
        hear shame shattered
in the lamplight.         i’m
        hung rotten as
the poor one.
        can’t even tell
me what fear
        means.         i’m
the shame sheeted
        upright in figure,
forgetting the
        vocabulary i stuffed
unknowingly in
        my school desk.
jester cracking the
        bells, melding
the syllables
        into my own
anthology.
        speech
slumps itself
        between my lips.
frown falling
        at the cusp
of conversation.
        they sit all strangled
in knitted coats
        and creamed dessert,
the perfume
        adulterating my
stringed stutter.
        and i sit back
in the armchair
        feeling restless
in the drips of
        dialect.