Among the breeding rot – whispers.
I hear them stretching through arthritic
tongues. Knife to bone,
crown to head, head of the table
where judgement resides on platters of
purple skinned grapes already coated
with penicillin.
Yes, the medicine, I’ve taken it,
drip feed from a babe.
Things that are not normal
flag as normal.
Things that are. Obviously insane.