How to cure mono

hands in his head are writing on the wall of his skull
an inner autobiography from rise to fall
and the score is mostly violins
and other things orchestral

there’s choirs and visuals of gorges and waterfalls
visions of Eden in emerald, and animals plentiful
the acoustics are bad so no one hears what’s sad or sung
if only this was the whispering gallery
one would clearly hear what appears to be mere murmur
there are tail feathers and talons spread out wide
holding quills that scribble the birds’ cries
lyrics in drivel to songs of the caged mind
the wallpaper comes down when the head’s full of steam
and an open mouth like draw bridge down to let volumes out
how long will he live through word of mouth
when he talks to himself below scalp peened
his dome echoes monolog
between closed books on a shelf
about disease control and self-help
St Peter chisels in rock