a r t i c u l a t e (n.)

who me, tonguetied?

no sir. the mirror swells a bit with pride

at my eloquence (i can tell myself

most anything).

a r t i c u l a t e (n.)

...she says of me. a compliment

but i can't spell to save my life

still i complement myself just fine

me & my misspellings.

this year i swore, swore, swore

nobody, no sir not even God in his Glory

nobody could steal the solid

out from under me.

nobody.

not the disease

he flaunts & we sweep

to the back, back corners of the

souls of things.

not the updown look

of a puzzled world

deciding where to put me.

nobody, nosirnothing.

no, i diagramed

grand plans

to stand on trust

stand on joy, joy divine,

--just

climb, climb, climb.

yup. my long-suffering reflection

chews and strains over

every calculation/every

possible combination

of word's order, word's weight.

& the strangest thing--

i'll never breathe

a phrase or hint or word or gleam

of this, my beautiful

a r t i c u l a t e

philosophy.