Yes, that’s my head you see
sitting atop my voice.
It is responsible for the machinations
of the tongue, even the gestures
that conduct sound into meaning.
Behind my brow, are my thoughts,
my motivations.
Sorry you can’t chisel through
and see for yourself.
You’ll have to take my word for it.
And my head is perched
atop my word.
Containing a heavy brain,
it can’t help but exert pressure
on the throat.
So that’s why sometimes,
the explanation comes out garbled,
like a wrestler struggling
not to be pinned.
Or it’s whispered
as if it’s trying to avoid
the attention of the giant above.
Or it just gives up,
says nothing,
despite the head’s
stream of instructions.
Right now, I’m silent,
though the head is loud.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, and Hollins Critic. His latest books, Leaves on Pages, Memory Outside the Head, and Guest of Myself, are available through Amazon. His work is upcoming in Ellipsis, Blueline, and International Poetry Review.
Sparks of Calliope 
You capture well what it feels like to be tongue tied right when one should be most articulate. Great playing off the articulate inner logic, what he should have said, versus what he must have actually said.
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