Plucking the Poisonous Parrot

The heavens scent of layers varnish, upon layers then grow and tarnish, like a stockade wrapped with palisades. A battlement inside playing charades; as the volume gets louder - louder, won't turn off or fade. Battering turbulence that goes on for hours. You can hear the low thrum plucking then growing. Breeding a buzz in your inner ears, like hornets building a nest in your brain. By the time you reach your limit you tremble, shivering like leaves in the wind. The plucking, poisonous parrot won't stop spinning and turning; it hangs tightly like a ram to smash down the door. 1/22/2019