I have poems in my mouth, tasting metallic.
When you hold your breath long enough, at some point, you lose count of the moments because you can't count that high. You don't have enough digits, and you have other things to think. You see images so vaguely in your mind's eye. But you’re only looking in the mirror where it's obvious you’ve ignored it too long. What is it?
And everyone goes about like ants so busy busy and v a g u e.
I’ve used that word before. Apologies to the Sheriff.
Hold that lid on there or we’ll find our way out.