I woke that morning
with wrecked legs...both, each,
together and
by themselves,
covered in callous spirals -
offended outbursts from my skin.
with wrecked legs...both, each,
together and
by themselves,
covered in callous spirals -
offended outbursts from my skin.
Protuberant masses of moments that
climbed upon the backs
of moments that climbed upon the backs of
more moments in which
I needle and threaded
speech to the bottom of my voice box.
climbed upon the backs
of moments that climbed upon the backs of
more moments in which
I needle and threaded
speech to the bottom of my voice box.
No release for the wicked! They are swollen inside
the trachea!
No shouting!
No speaking!
No whispering!
the trachea!
No shouting!
No speaking!
No whispering!
No escape for the lewd but to crawl
through the juicy veins of
my life and surge out of each puny
pore.
There was not pain.
There was not ulceration.
through the juicy veins of
my life and surge out of each puny
pore.
There was not pain.
There was not ulceration.
All that could be seen
was the ugly, the atrocious that I had
tied to the bottom of my voice box; that I refused to let free!
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