Tilt the life liquid,
from occupied plastic;
so rivers stream
where you can't see,
but you can hear.

It is kin to phlegm
in the back of my throat

And 'scaped from my lips,
a hero drops,
Too worn from tubes
To accept another.

Askew a tongue
to a soldier who's fallen.
Rescue the numbed.
A soldier.

What makes a hero is loneliness
Because feeling lonely is all he is.
So pity on him. Folly it is.