pumps the agony
further along.  Hurt
feels the poison collect
in tiny dark pools
inside.  Like gators
come to feed,

the hurts
fling themselves
on My battered psyche.
The reptilian voices
ring and beat
the waves
that seek to drown
my head.  But the whales
of hope drift

over to the gentle
shores.  Hopes drag
only a few strands
of hot seaweed
to blank the stares
of fits that bind
when the rain falls
black.