Kilns and Violins

Dark place my place standing water violin frogs...so very quiet. Where is my voice where are the lungs flung into wells of fire another day for the kiln another day somewhat overdone. the meaning of "whole" has paled, half a heartbeat shy of "it" karma has raked its orange teeth on the nape of all regret parched, dark raiders on desert hills honing golden knives slinging crimson shrills while I collect water in paper palms, bartering sips for a life my place dark place heart quilled by golden shards standing water violin frogs so very very quiet