In conversation,
I find it rather easy to choke,
On words,
On phrases,
My oesophagus is awash in letters,
Chunks of language undigested,
Like fat in a drain,
Well and truly clogged,

I cough and splutter,
Unable to get the locutions out,
Talking in tongues,
Gurgling in gibberish,
Growing more blue with each failed gasp,
The paragraphs scratch my throat like nails,
I’m destined to be choked by the words,
And no friendly Heimlich will help.

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