BICARBONATE

Quiet, you voluble man
that frets, beyond
my bearing,
your prerogative speech

My bicarbonate,
buffer me, against
everything; that
froth under your address

All little tongues of quietude
have slithered away
under,
the gulp of sorrow and pain

Hush! Listen…
the feat of your wicked angel, that
do me less hard, and less pure too; as
I don’t seek your heart, anymore

I am one joy
Among my happiness;
owning stillness at night
That sounds nothing alive

Quiet, you voluble man
that split, gnawing
My usual form, else
I will cast anchor upon you!