Muttering imprecations at the top,
The pinnacle of tensions, highest grade,
The maximum of shaking held within,
While vocalizing silently in screams
Of frequencies beyond all thought of sound.
(Another world arises over all
In counterpoint to what we hope we know.)
I had enough but know I will see more,
Until such baggage eats itself and dies,
Leaving imagery that can work.
I long have had enough of others’ fears,
Those attitudes of structure to maintain,
As how am I to smile and where and when.
Now look at me as caught in Winter swoon,
My inner brabble magnified to war,
Where I can hear the noise, the shouts and shots–
Stomping on this poem–now shut it up!