Choke

 The holes have words that sometimes speak for days

The Ooooh's and Ahhh's and whatever trouble they may bring, resist the barriers

They will be heard, they are deftly felt. They commune with the thickness

Looking to shame the layers into action, and shock the limbs into articulation.

What must be done knows what needs doing and personifies the preciseness of that goal.

Each and every fucking day.

Lost in dreams that look too good and yet, they are true.

True to the gleam of touch so tender, and the sweltering bliss of sensitivity - shared.

Shucked. Never. Encased, rather. Dreaded droning. A 34 year old horizon line, shines.

But the bird on the wire is cooking in the hot sun.

Scaling the notions in drivel-worthy hesitancy.

Fucking irritating me more than I can bare.

Because I know, how I know, how I know....

The order chokes the chaos.