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.