Sometimes I wait
on the edge of sound
like a mumble against heaven

Then I stumble
in the fumbled voice
to blurt my words
like fresh water in a stale shower

All the blistered spats of phrase
one awkward drench
in the scurried seconds of my speech
as if to utter
is peculiar
and my mouth
a foreign flag
waved discretely
against a field of opposition

Then silence returns
throbbing intensely
at my ears
like almost sounds
denying everything I’ve said