A visible epiglottis isn’t poetic,
merely anatomy.
If anger were a measure of righteous,
matchsticks would arbitrate justice.
If screams could weigh casualties,
autopsy rooms would be the loudest.
An epiglottis is as much an epiphany
as a shrunken ball-sac;
worth a thought when functional,
and an embarrassing metaphor
when it mistakes imitation for origin.
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