The Tanks, They Think

by Elaina David

Tapping tortures the tips to the toes, transmitting things that take time to talk through. Tingling turning to tough tarps taking turns tearing the thoughts that twitch through the thrashing tracks traced through time. To think that the tanks that take their thoughts, they think the thoughts though they tall, turn the tables, they think terror that terrible thought. Torches turn the tempest tint, they that think through the transparent throng. The thrum that thoughts they tilt the titan, the tall tree that twists the tempest to the themes that tell the tale they took. The throng the thong, the thing that takes the tame thoughts to turn them to tricky traps that thrust, that throw, that tangle the thinker’s tank.