my mute (a thyroid poem)
 
lately I've been thinking I'm
a victim of voice, the perfect
prey for its flurries and lapses
its potholes and ironies
 
its whims and complicated
wounds; that my limp tongue
deserves more than a window
and whispers, that I'm
 
more than the necessary
body for its box of monsters
to hide when some nothing-
in-the-wind comes along
 
and eclipses my sense of
horizons, or penetrates my
sleep because I've left myself
out in the rain again
 
-
 
I know that I should try to
think beyond these symptoms
and see them as flaws
in a greater timetable
 
blink them out like fireflies
because there's more
weather in my head than
anyone could ever need
 
that I should clear my throat
and give the silence every name
I can but I can't, because my
heart tells me I'm
 
a victim of voice.
 
 
© Peter Schwartz
 
Bio: Peter Schwartz's poetry has been featured in The Columbia Review, Diagram, and Opium Magazine.  When not dreaming of literary conferences, he's writing or taking photos or thinking of who he should get for the next issue of DOGZPLOT - where he is art editor.  His third chapbook ghost diet will be out at the end of 2009.