I packed my front yard with signs

telling the world of my neighborhood
exactly how I feel about the day's politics 
don't do vote yes no fear the right left
I even strung lights that twinkled flashed
spelling out my voice in dots and dashes
so even low-flying aliens could detect
my opinion and choose to beam me up
or not for further investigation and/or
dissect me inspect me reject me (respect
me?) but it's all so jumbled that I'm
stumbling fumbling like the bumbling 
wordsmith that I strive strove to express.
Actually, I think I've knotted myself in
Gordian word mazes, stubbed my toes
on vowels and consonants, rhymed my
reasons senseless, and swallowed my
tied tongue on too many thoughts.
I’m ankle tangled in the jangle of electrical
lines crossing my lawn like tripwires,
and I’ve fallen into the trap of my words.

Steve Gerson writes poetry and flash about life's dissonance.  He's proud to have published in Panoplyzine, Route 7, Poets Reading the News, Crack the Spine, the Decadent Review, Underwood Press, Dillydoun Review, In Parentheses, Vermilion, and more, plus his chapbooks Once Planed Straight:  Poetry of the Prairies, Viral:  Love and Losses in the Time of Insanity, and the soon to be published The 13th Floor:  Enter Anxiety from Spartan Press.