Roman

Comma And

Dread locked into a quiet room, 
give me noise or take my breath.
The bane of non-existence is the
sigh of another life.

My trachea is scrawled on this nap
kin, well rested from my silent spring;
yes, my birds are dead and my frogs 
are mute, and continuity is merely
one extra comma in badlands
contorted by semis 
colon.