Monochrome

We’re only rhythms:
breaths expressed spent compressed
for future syllabic vivacities.
Monochrome.
But look how far we’ve come,
glance right to over the shoulder
circumstantial sighs while
over to the left accrued tongues tied
neatly knotted charted plotted.
And what’s become?
My speech as dull as
everyone’s thoughts:
running drain drills.
At least my head’s still spinning,
axis askew.
Oh, and Hallelu! for carbonation rejuvenation
(saving souls from sanity.)
Keep cloudy between my ears friend,
or foe. Phantom perceptions never know.