Speak No Gritty

I must own up, surrender
to my battlefield arms high

my head my heart my groin
all mine down to my ingrown
big & little finger toenails

but at the core of pain
the heart of thought
the roots of wilted nip-in-the-bud
is a war of the tongues

behind the curtain of disembodied Oz
the cracked liberty tongue
tangles with an anxious mother

not a refuge, not a sound
understood without guides