SORRY

sorry
if this poem
is too loud

dactyls. spondees
thundering
at every turn

or
too raw

your teeth
not sharp enough

too soft
it breaks up
in your fingers
you cannot hear it

best it can muster
mere whispers, a puff of breath

but then
out of nowhere

Krakatoa. an explosion
louder than
more molten flow
pyrotechnic madness
red-
hot lava

Published by Damian Garside