******* on a bed of nouns
Spiked by the periodic verb
And desiccated seconds.

The taste is like a herb
Stored since birth
And the death that stretches before it like a curb.

Flavor radiates plateau from the earth
As the little soldiers, little flies
Fly out through mouths with their small girth.

The insect words that scuttle past our eyes
Know when recited truly each one dies.