Around fever pitch bend

Banish thought
Exile feeling
Revile tongue, palette and gullet
Stunt, smother and muzzle the stomach
Whose fangs stick the ears’ throat
As one tube inserted into another scrapes
The sanity away in screaming flakes

And this cock, moreover, must needs be
Beheaded, let it spurt its last life in twitching
Throes, waddling, squawking, frantically
Fidgeting like an unpinched rubber inflation
Blood letting the swelling go down with
The fever
Let the lungs cease sucking
Me dry
The throat cease plunging
The clotting knot
The heart stop stabbing out
For elbow room
The fists stop clenching
 Nailing themselves shut in cocoon coffin pods
The third eye stop burrowing out through
Forehead membrane, furrowing and straining
Tunnels of sweat
Tide of life receding back along the
Oceanic globe, growing gray
All falling out and away
Soon will be cleaned out
And stored away
Where the strench of dross removed cannot
Reach its late blackened well
Pitch gives, and lets, and bends, and sinks,
And flattens, and suddenly
Shatters.

 

copyright2003 by Dustin Hansen