Oxhead - Dangers

What’s in a word?

What’s in a name?

And how do I tame these beasts to which I’m slave?

I fork my tongue into the thoughts, but words can’t seem to span across the

gulf between what’s in my head and all the things I say instead.

Untwist my tongue.

Fact check my fictions.

Maybe you’re just deaf, or maybe I’m just dumb.

Bruised cheek.

Split tongue.

One more Bucephalus.

Maybe I’m happy, or maybe I’m just dumb.

Another word.

Another slang.

Another grammar.

Another failure to communicate.

The things I tried to say to you as we drove through that Texas June.

Our love, like a hex, snaked around my suffix.

Untwist my tongue.

Fact check my fictions.

Maybe you’re just deaf, or maybe I’m just dumb.

Bruised cheek.

Split tongue.

One more Bucephalus.

Maybe I’m happy, or maybe I’m just dumb.

The son of a son of a son of a son…

Sometimes, at night, when I can’t sleep, the things you said that day echo

through me.

«If you can ride that beast, then you can take him home.

But trust me, son,» you said, «you'll suffer the writing all alone.

«Untwist my tongue.

Bucephalus.

Untwist my tongue.

Bucephalus.

Cut out my tongue.

Aphasia.

Bucephalus