These aren’t the words you’re looking for.
Please rise, later descend, to the occasion.
The histamines hum vigorously.
The irradiated muscle contracts.
We can have these problems too,
can feast on fallacy and strike out
together into rosy solitude.
Such feral machinery, this thing we call life.
Truly we’re not safe for broadcast,
what with the inky disputes which shroud us,
the not-so-pleasing implications
for the full-bodied Socius.
I’ve given my all, I’m fond of telling myself,
or my all has given me.
Drowsing ferociously in the artificial heat,
my darkening nerves absorb me.