His tongue pulls the metronome’s trigger without volition
My psychic secretion drips in the classical condition
Mad magpies fly from my mouth and scatter to the wind
Clocks on the wall stop their tick, time it does suspend
Gales of a desperate hurricane blow from ear to ear
With no eye to pause for calm, in it’s wake only fear
Recovering from unconsciousness wondering what did I say
Wallowing in muddy pools of my mind’s panicked dismay
(The string continues to vibrate after the sound has passed
The quivering of conscience in the storm’s aftermath)
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