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I quietly ask those ears

Nailed to telegraph poles

To hear.

I wrote to those eyes

Almost pecked out by black-winged rooks

To read.

I defile the air with my breath

For those nostrils torn by red-hot pincers

To smell.

I spoke not loud

I wrote not legible

Hardly breathing.

Uprooted throat lies

In the middle of the road

No one even tries to go round it

The throat pushed down with the wheels

Went down deeper

In soft hidden clay

That so softly embraces it

That it gotta… hoarse

Not loud

Not legible

Hardly breathing.