the semantics of holding your breath in an iron lung

the semantics of holding your breath in an iron lung
is like semaphore with one arm, waving down a breath 
of fresh air. it pleats the ribbon of a stalled inhalation.
like a gasp; as solid as a dead sea. with coral reefs-
bedecked in moonglow and deep thrills.

you can almost say anything you want…
but i doubt you will. too many stars to mill
for a spark. 
and a glut 
of shakespeares-
dipping quills into
your existential crisis-

it’s a miracle you-
have anything to
sisyphus. 

at your peak. 

but it’s all downhill 
from here.