Storm Warning (a poem)

Control is a four-headed hydra
covered in scales, covered in scabs,
to blame
for the loosening of the grip
and the tightening of the noose,
or was it just chemistry gone awry,
some random faulty wiring?

Stay, you say but you`re too
far
your voice does not carry
across that big divide:
It falls short
and so do I,
hence my sweet, swift
r.b. lullaby:

Full Fathom Five, one
Full Fathom Five, two
Full Fathom Five, three
Full Fathom Five, four
Oh fuck so close so close this time.