Muffled

Vincent_Cacciotti_WWA_artptb20-2

Vincent Cacciotti

 

Perhaps I am a sphinx

For my vowels as mice squeak

Vehement in stupor

They wind round and round

The black veins of an oiled clock

Never do they embellish

The requisite rind

The insular consonant

This bludgeoned throat

Wails on conclusion

Having established naught

 

 

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12 responses to “Muffled

  1. Whew. Such disconnect is painful, especially when the effort is there and the desire to speak. This poem gave me a way to feel that gagged silence.

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