the ******* claw at the bone- their skull cap bastille, domed in like ants under a bowl, whispering and itching, searching for any crack or hole... They are possessed. and so they pulse like an enemy drum Hostile and sonorous, Pounding the mind with a beat. Release, release, release... My myriad, my beautiful collection of muddled madmen, transients every one, How clumsily they lust, and with sweet earnest, for the lines of my notebook or the empty air around my lips. Some I swallow deep to still the frenzy, Suffocating language in my stomach. Others I concede to spill out into life, I am indiscriminate. watch the lucky ones stumble and run like blood, towards liberation by bated breath.