How I became a moan
a hinged open jaw that is neither a sigh nor a scream
yet yields veins to loop
bodies to conform
to choke
to rise
lengthening the nape of my neck, lifting chin
to let the pedestal of ideal images falter
thrashing them in the acids of my plump stomack
I am embers, fed by the ashes of the weak minds:
should and ideal
*** This is a work in progress