by Marc Gunn, April 25, 2005

Like many, I feel like it is very rare to meet someone who understands the gibberish we speak. We cling to the desire to be unique and mysterious and different. Perhaps none of us are Really all that different, but this poem attempts to shed light on my own challenges in finding someone who speaks my language.

To the Untuned Ear,

I speak a strange language.

It's like something out of “Blade Runner”

or Babylon.

It's a mixelplit of languages
dialects and slang.

Part English and Italian, but also,
Part Celt and Texan,
Part Venetian and Elvish,
Part Cat and Prince Edwardian,
Part Languid and part Love.

It's not a language any Normal person speaks.
Even fewer comprehend.

To the Untuned Ear,

It can sound like madness,
The swatherings and flailings of a deranged mind.

But

The rare blessed few
Can slice away the misgivings
And misunderstandings.

The rare blessed few
Can splinter the sounderings
And the flounderings.

The rare blessed few
Can close the dictionary
And still translate the graffiti

That floats lovingly around and
above my
beating heart.

Yes, it is a strange language.

I won't folly to say
You will ever or never disect it.

But I will speak
as I was born to speak
and pray my words will not
fall on deaf ears.