Row in that heart, a glance with bile in your throat.
Here, it roars louder,
expand your lungs as sails
dragging your seldom static limbs over.
shrunken in, silent mumbling,
drinks downed better with background noise.
That dead cell aftertaste
revising that all-purpose explanatory lie
the bend of you seems welcoming
Who can blame the August swarms for turning?
The noise within those blackened drums, the pitch
is paralysis inducing.