Rolling Pigeons Towards Collapseing Turtled Gloves

The Arguement Soaks Through The Filter,
Through The Membrane...Through The Electric Channels,
It Drips Out Through The Holes Like Hamburger Through A Meat-Grinder,
Through And Through...
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Through... And Through...
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InTo The Hungry Ear Starveing For Daily ConFlict,
EveryBody Has An Ear Like That...
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MayBe It Is Your Left... Perhaps... It Is Your Right...
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It Devours Those Scratchy Static Runes As A Casino Table Would To Dice,
Hopeing For The Code Of Gods To Reveal Their Little Etched Order,
SomeTimes To Tumble From Cups...
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InTo The HereSay... Palms Sweeping ACross Sweating Brows...
...
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The Skins Of Gamblers Are Brought To The Wire... Still Wet...
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To Be Stretched And Pinned... Then Drummed For The RimShot
InTo Echoing Stillness,
Above The Green Felt And Perched ReServeations,
Then InTo The Clicking Of Teeth...
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Or Through The Whistleing Of Others...
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To The Rough... Then Tacked Smooth.