They whisper simple, pleasant rhyme
When the verse counts one,
We tell a lie;
\"I\'m fine\" says we,
And the verse is done.
Couplets call an arousing tug
Of a heartstring broken,
Snapped twice in fun.
Now the curtain drawn on he the fool,
A rhapsody cleft; lays there, open.
Tiny squeaks peer through a shifting
Of insulation in a corner,
Black beasts, furred in urine, of putrid source
Many hurriedly eaten, but today
It marks the fourth.
Clanging, clanging, drums
Hit and bend a silver bowl.
Says it, to them, the five remaining -
\"We are but empty,
Yet are we whole?\"
The silence bites, gnaws away
The bloodied grim of the 6, engraved,
The dirty needles confirm, contort, repel -
Any notion of noise
And it never ends well.
Tap, tap, tap, tap,
Manage the ear, keep it close,
Keep it near.
Seven more to go \'till there\'s
Nothing left to fear.
Brick floor so soft,
So warm, so fluffed;
Brick floor, eighth crack,
So rigid, so rough.
Napping soon for the itch is dulled,
The meter totals 9;
Nine thrashing bangs of dented bone
Against the rust on a drainpipe.