Getting Sick on Too Much Sibelius

Dead Cat, Théodore Géricault

I found a dead body in my throat
the other day. I was in a coughing
fit and all of a sudden I froze
and convulsed uncontrollably
as muscles stiffened and pushed
from within like a cat in the throes
of releasing its fur on dark bedroom
carpet. As the body slid its way
out of my mouth I felt its calloused
fingers and hard palms first and then
the head, bald, like me, my relatives.
The more it came out, the more I suffocated
on its smooth shape, until it
it birthed bloody on the bathroom tile
and sang to me as I writhed
in the fluids of its composition.