Strands of cure-all hanging down can cleanse the crap in sullied neck.
No recompense for wreck of sense; my throat exploded, spreading dreck.
Bearing larynx such as mine (a portal warping kind intent)
Was warranting forlornness. Ugly vibe was spry, would not relent.
Love descends, a fibrous siphon pulling up reverse cascade,
Solution from the quiet siren culling call of lingual raid.
Brush and whisper, hushing timbre, join to guard us from my voice.
The pulchritude that you exude from scalp can help me. I rejoice.
You give a whole new meaning here to the phrase "in the beginning was the word." Great vocal sounds without a voice but about a voice is an eerie concept, like nebulae in distant galaxies we can't see but know are there.
ReplyDeleteHi Jack! Such virulent descriptions here--makes me think of the time I had reallly bad strep throat, though pretty certain that's not your intent. Always amazed at your rhyming ability--no forced lines here. Well done!
ReplyDeleteTis the season of sickness (the winter of our discontent?). The short, punchy ending works so nicely.
ReplyDeletethe grittiest radio jingle ever!
ReplyDeleteoh and: we could sell a lot of cold meds with this piece. Get well sir!
ReplyDeletesuch harmonious disharmony is beyond belief.rhymes generally add to melody.you use them for a cannonade.and all your sense of revulsion, disgust, loathing and self-criticism explode through the lines.
ReplyDeleteThis was a powerful, short piece. Nice work.
ReplyDeleteI could feel the tension and the swell of sickness play
ReplyDeleteout like a symphony of discontent~
Bravo :D
I could not help but recall an ER visit with a loved one post suicide-attempt. The invasion saved her life, despite the fact that she revolted against the action.
ReplyDelete