Stammer

His words
lie dry in his mouth,
introducing, he
begins, his tongue starts,
tripping over
him
he
himself. His name- he’s
Trying, desperately,
to enunciate those
those syllables,
mines hidden
in the field of speech.
Progress is so so
so very slow
his sentences stumble,
stumbling
over themselves,
a blind man running
a deaf man singing,
the solemn man laughing.

The sounds become bitter,
souring at the back
the back of his throat.
Malingering, festering.
Why can’t he speak?
All the words are traps
traps that entangle.
The speaker, neither
willing nor wanting
to be heard, catches
glass at the back
back of his throat.
On paper, he
glides, but on the ground,
he cannot! cannot
he is choked by the words.