Sometimes I Try to be a Poet

Words tumble from my mouth

Dribbling down my chin in steady stream

I drool nonsense, whimsical phrases

They glide over my lips

With steady march of syllables

Dropping into my hands

They flow over them in tangles

I cannot catch and put in order

My tongue curls to hold the sounds

Fingers searching for a logical thought

Splashing about in palms

Questions swirl around the froth

Held behind my teeth

But at the forefront

"Just what am I saying anyway?"