i never had a head for languages, english has always been hard enough for me

i am barely fluent in my native tongue

now my tongue can speak in wondrous ways, ones that require dexterity and speed

but foreign languages escape me

i find myself wanting to learn them all

to spew my wasteful words in a myriad of languages

to find the right combination of gutteral growls to reach your soul and etch my name

maybe i should stick to pantomime

i am trapped in a box

it looks like a hotel room, with four walls and neighbors stomping on the ceiling

watch my hands

the wind is blowing from the south

lifting me off the well worn carpet

a tornado blowing my to oz

where i finally have figured out i belong

a mime on breeze, a wick in the trees, combustible and set to ignite

lighting the skies in silent wonder

the idiosyncratic, poetic fool with a head full of words, but no native tongue in which to speak them