Laid down amongst foreign objects

I weep and smile a little bit.
Somewhere in the shallow regions of my thought
A fat beaver wallows over icy cataracts,

And another parade of alternating chimps and lawyers captures
Eleven total minutes of rumination.
“This is so typical,” I wander with my larynx.

(The perfectly centered tract my throat traversed the other day
Merely covered an anxious span of cardiac tissue,
But hardly changed anything actually vital.)

A pipe organ continues playing in the background.