The accusations
will overwhelm us,

micromanaged to the hilt
until alarm commences.

We will watch the levels
with precise indecision

effacing the solid & bold comfort
with our grandness.

Apart from the boats
what can be done? Let the fogs

come and the darkness
elicit from our fistulous throats

an unheard of silence.

In that moment
birds will explode with humility.

Tact will be abandoned
and no text left intact—

in fact:
no things, no ideas.

Harpoons will pierce us
harmoniously.