Your “Fevered Poem” splits my throat
Crunching into stripped out vocal chords
As punishment of uttering these chants to sound

Hear these refrains bubbling out in a gurgled outpour
In panic-stricken blood smearing on paper once more and again
A torrent in red sired, fall every sickly line by a mucked pulpy device

Convey in a mantra of the ill-advised
In bleeding lines of description, prepositions
which you struggle to speak in a language never before spoken

The dead lingos of the unknown
Reaching out & upward drowning in its own puddle
of meritocracy.