A tongue in this sense is not the master
but the fallen slave of which is forced to witness wisdom of greatest work
Callous clams of salt
and brittle destinations of hearty hunger from
the king in which is waiting down south
Tuck that serviette firm and crisp in the ditch at your neck
and tell me cutlery is not served without desire to fulfill the hierarchy perched onto throne
tell me thoughts are not mustered with not tales but with mustard
and sit down on a seat placed with only the stomach to satisfy
Only humane figures can adopt a passion so starving for salvation
but so thirsty is the throat that claims a heart controls thee
It is not plates and goblets that praise every man of his kingdom
but that the stomach is in hunger for courage
for love
and for power
and only those thirsty for wisdom may grant a glorious banquet bestowed with finery
but with taste in this buffet does it total lack
as neither can live while the other survives
Banquo serve and reign in this empathy of a brain
Sleep, sleep, as mouth aches
goodnight, goodnight as body breaks
The stomach is yet to be filled
but water is still tasted
from the river that flows across cheek and nose
and the fresh of the air once smelt
but now gulped
in an attempt to grasp any glory
O sorry are there words to whisper but
Goodnight
