Imperial Collar

 A blackout, no, not osmosis, a wheezing,
pink drumming, if i didn’t know what it was
i’d think it the sound of these tonsils,
like something that only occurs unknowingly
those swelling palsy-walsy clumps, sounding off
defenses and up for most anything, in the throat
they stand and surge, though they are faceless,
reddening and burning, the countless
whole as background, saliva slithering over them
and breathing in the night.


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