(Sounds like Harmony but)
Tastes like apathy.
Dry, chapped, and phlegmy
With my tongue thick and
Drudging in a tasteless tar
At the top of the fall.
Cold –blooded and writhing
Shedding, scheming and idle
Potential energy and work to be done
Over distances and barb wire bulwark.
Throbbing and turgid, restlessly
Shackled, zipped, and tucked.
A static and stale statue
Approaching a ******, kinesis
On lacking lines, purged pages
Silent songs, and clean canvases
Museless, hollow, and still