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