The pills placate the wanderer off limbs
back to the conscience by the sea.
But the drums draw still further
into the arms of the nitrogen mammoth along the wind.
Waking again unintentionally
(Don't the eyes seem more to panic?)
up to a box top of a pocket room.
No one jumps willingly,
but the anonymous relieved the gravity
that unevens scales
of poppy seed, then politic
in which companionship weighs
as corroborated with books on normality
spread through viruses of the ear.
To reduce this fever to the Himalayan rest,
now take this body into your coded language franca
and let the traveler live in ideas —
resort to inscrutable silence.