Imagine being so afraid of what words can do that you tear out your own tongue. The speaker gives a series of brutal commands: bite it off, cauterise the wound, stuff it, hold in the scream. It's a shocking image, but it reads less as literal injury than as a picture of forced silence, and of how violent it feels to hold back what wants to be said.
The poem suggests that language is something we carry like a haunting. Beneath it lies an "unspoken secret," a "swallowed stone" that either kills us or has to be expelled. Speech becomes a kind of sacrifice, a "ridiculous offering" to something infinite and horrifying. The mood is tense, claustrophobic and dread-filled, with a dark edge that tips between laughter and cruelty. The ending flips everything: open your mouth, let it out. Without a tongue, "all sounds are one," so perhaps meaning dissolves into raw, wordless noise.