you are,
a slithered with and upon,
a crude fission of
mind -
  a scatter
of rattling echo...
and a tongue to scrape
rather than gather...
the grim
scoop of skins
in the desecrated
temple
   borrow of:
what feud in
the feud of
the scattered
tongues...
   am i..
ever to satiate
the precursor...
and precursor
whatever:
makes it all,
the dire,
with all the variant
of calmly
agitated commands;
less...
and even more so:
ever less...
    inevitably... suspect.