inarticulate

moaning and slobbering and bellowing slowly with each  expiration

with the trees buzzing, the glass broke, the drooping flower, the candles gone away

because we are all poisoned, beating the dry pulse of the decaying house where the fungi creeps as our own

because et ego in arcadia but a perverse mockery, found not death but the dead void and I am inarticulate

he can’t tell what you saying, he deef and dumb

but I can hear us all, only to moan meaningless and sustained, hopeless and prolonged

just sound but all time and injustice and sorrow made vocal

he can’t tell what you saying

but I can smell the sickness in this stalemate of dust and desire, this dark cool breeze smelling of ammonia as she is scrubbing, scrubbing what’s soaked clean through to murmuring bones, what’s the smell of trees now matted with vines and briers dark

he can’t tell. hush up. can’t you hush up. close your eyes.

but I can see and it was full of stars, smooth bright shapes, moving oblivious to the sound of their own dry pulse, desiccating peacefully in this too warm emptiness without peace, ticking without any hands at all.

Moving parallel courses like planets, fighting in the mirror, all pupil or all iris and dying aint all

there’s this.

I sees hit! I sees hit! I sees hit! the long diminishing parade I am part of

but the voice that breathed, ain’t you shamed of yourself, making all this racket, this moaning and slobbering and bellowing? muscle-bound and inarticulate, too innocent to protect, but all time and injustice and sorrow made vocal if I could say

get in. hush up. stay on you side.

I opened my mouth, inarticulate voiceless misery

and I began to cry.