Something Poem by Andrew Lee

Something in this poem chatters and screams.
Everything shudders and starts to crack,
like ten little poems with sharp, grinding teeth
that pivot and swirl inside a single thrill of hope that spurts
and throbs inside the moans and groans of sweaty girls,
and my tongue feels purple-dry and dead-white,
after being cooped up inside the rows of bloody little teeth
of corona-viruses everywhere, even along the cracks
of this computer screen, this broken slice of mouldy bread,
this lump of expired biscuit crumbs,
this strand of dusty eye hair plucked out
due to another spurt of throbbing life
inside the moans and groans of sweaty girls.
They flash across the swirls of computer screens,
and all of these girls knock against the rusty chains
of long dreary hours and the dead-white screams of forgotten poems.
Now the crime rate will surely plunge.
Everybody has tasted the cruel sweats
of being confined within the four walls of our edgy mind.
Somehow we need to dash outside,
to feel the breezes and kisses of something heavenly
that float across the pale blue sky.