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
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2019
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