Big Mouth

Once again I’ve said words I regret and yet

when my mouth works faster than my brain

it’s plain they’re sub-par, but only my mouth

speaks the Devil’s words to entangle me in

angles that become situations I don’t like.


It has ruined my life by saying, “Marry me,”

not once, but twice. My brain knew better,

but was unable to shut that hole in my face

that like an automatic gun, without a doubt,

spouts unthought words faster than I can think.


I take a drink and think that I should invent a

zipper to keep it closed, so I can’t disclose,

but if I did that, I wouldn’t have anything to say.

Maybe that would be a good thing to be unable

to speak or even shriek for at least a week.


Without words to do my dirty work, I’m afraid

in less than an hour, my brain will be overworked

when my mouth has been forbidden to speak all

week, and I’m unable to annunciate things I want

my big mouth to say.


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