Lamentation Poem by Matthew Buchwald

My head has become as soft as a tidal marsh,
The clammers cut into it, making slushy sounds,
Every day and every night they dig,
They squish like the valves of time.

My head has become as foul as a filthy marsh,
The mud is topped with the trash of creepy weirdos,
A bag is tossed, there is cackling in the reeds,
The waves come, weak with doubt.

My head is swollen with an awful murmuring,
It thrums in the swamps, in the bogs, in the swarming landfills,
And jeers from a mob that sleazily rejoices
Fling chaos into my head.