Words, words, worms! My mind is swarmed With them. Ants file in through the sticky Canals, chattering, stamping their little black feet. They use me. I am their harboring medium, A visitor in my own head. Black, empty mouths flutter and dance and signal Amongst themselves, crowding my skull, A murmuration of phrases and guttural sounds.
I mustn't tell fully what they say.
They draw forth black and bubbling swamps, Wicked crows, the yawping millions, pecking, Pecking, gouging with yammering beaks At every smooth, young innocent.