Hard not to hear 
that red muttering
underneath too many
breaths:

ancient, violent criminals 
breaking out
from inside so many 
hard-sealed heads,
first in dribbles
and then in packs,
comfortable again as they
mutter and wreck
as if it is finally the season
for such muttering to grow
in volume, grow
toward becoming the cry
of a banshee army turning out
to storm across all and sweep
all ahead of it.

Make no mistake:
not one word of
that murmur
should be mistaken
for old German,
and thus dismissed.
Admit it, at least
to yourself: you
can understand 

every word.