Articulation

Each thought that may surface

is one that is

disconnected.

One after another, there is no purpose;

these useless fragments swarm my

head.

Each sentence that tumbles from my practiced tongue

is heard as nonsense, hastily

projected.

The words that fumble are improperly strung

and, by the fragmented thought,

intersected.

Each idea is supressed by fear

of the forthcoming

inarticulation.

The brilliance of it, expressed in a tear,

will not be heard, and without

compensation.