ode to traphole

What has driven thee today to speak again,

Man?

Thou wouldst not close it,

thou wouldst not close it--

thy traphole! Why wouldst thou not?

Why? Wherefore?

The Woe! Alack, the black Woe!

Thy tongue dances fierily to the same old beat

that the void inside thy orifice

tells him to do.

the beat----of its own absence...

And it shan't be shut closed.

Mad dancer before thy sombre idol, drooling, tearing.

the enshrined face inside thy face,

Hard getting, swallowing.

I'll be silent now.