Throattorchers

Throattorchers

A box
A breath
A quiet murmur
A panicked yell

When we forget these
Words are also said
In heaven and hell

Nothing seems to be
As what it is until
You speak the words
Any words to change

The scene

Next act in the play
Another chapter in a book
Words all change the thing
The time, the space

Anything you taste ends
When there is no more

Wine, tea, coffee,

There’s only no more words
If you stop tasting them
On the tip of your tongue
And coating your mouth

All the hot breath and
Tart tastes are for nothing
If you just quit

All the horrible words
Are only horrible if
You stop saying them

No good words are recognized
If you don’t ever tell
Them they are

No fear is so quenched
As the fear of running out
Of literary delights

Food to the fire
Tastes for all to
Acquire when they
Comminucate or wait

For the next scene to change
When all along
It was the words always
Laying in wait

To be consumed
To be taken in
Understood

Some starve and some die
When their buffet ends
And the words no longer
Leave their mouths
Often like breath

No one knows what it’s
Like
Not until the tartness
Ends

Its balance of sour
Sweet
Savory
And sense in between

The experience
Of living

No one knows until
They run out