When I was a baby poet I wrote lots of things and a very few of them wrote themselves into the rafters of my skull. One is:
It is in the early morning
that I love to hear them scream
for their hearts screech out their wicked lies
with lips and tongues serene.
Most things I wrote that I couldn't get out of my head I respected for that reason and put them in poems but this seemed like youthful rage and I never did. I did recently. But I post this here because it was in my head again.