No Habla

It takes two to speak the truth: one to speak, and another to hear. - Thoreau

I know the words but can't speak the language.

Opening my mouth in a flatulent flood of emotive, guttural utterances.

Erring with incomplete sentences.

Suffering from a constipation of clarity.

Vocabulary victim to a non retractable colonoscopy in my guts.

Intestinal twist and stomach bloat.

Obstructing speech like an uncrossable moat.

Incommunicado.

My verbage slurred and  staccato.

In need of a lingual laxative.

They won't even read my lips.

Garnering only gastric gibberish.

Excreting a colostomy of consenants.

Suffering syllables.

I sit on a hiatal  hopper.

Squenching consenants.

Excreting vowels.

Evacuating an oratory of my bowels.

But alas, meaning evades my hog-tied jowels.

Attempting a distentended diatribe of dialect.

With incomprehesible accent of expression.

Grinding teeth 'pon undigested impediments of phonics.

I exercise speech but the sedentary sickness lies inside.

My tongue moves up and down and side to side.

Too bad no one understands.

Blah, blah, blah.

No Habla ...

Author's Note

"It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; -- not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself. The symbol of an ancient man's thought becomes a modern man's speech." - Thoreau