I open my mouth, but nothing comes out
Johanna M. Geiger
Twenty-one days past substantial offerings.
A chord struck dumb by repeated twangs.
Often enough I open my mouth and stupidity seeps out.
My elocution lacking severely enough to stutter my thoughts.
Here, in the recesses of hope I am again searching for my place.
This timely motivation.
This wispy indication.
A red flush, an open-closing-open-closed movement.
Once upon a time this struggle seemed easy.
