Garbled

Monday afternoon commuter musings, part two.

Sometimes I open my mouth and

all that comes out is a jumble of

half-formed thoughts, all

jostling for position.

I make no sense and knowing

I make no sense makes me 

force more words out to

fall without grace atop the pile.

They look at me like I have dropped in from 

outer space, like I am speaking in tongues; and I 

wish I could pull all the words back in like

beads on a string, fill my mouth till

my cheeks were bulging then turn

and walk quietly away.