The Throat

This is the vascular throat
From whose funnelled rasp
The red words fly.
Its blue veins pulsing
Chide with mortal proximity.
The throat is thankless as an amnesiac.
It conceals the vital spinal cord wreathed in blame.
At cord's end, the house of foul calculus.
I will hold them all responsible:
The dumped chromosome, the rudely small domicile,
The neurotic mother, the brooding father,
The electric-cord-whipped piety,
The evangelical superstitions brokered like elixirs,
The magnetic accident of arousing shape,
And the trapdoor megaphone
Welded to the roaring throat
Orating in repeating echoes
Endless as sunrises.

© Rhett Talley