The Wake

I have melancholy tropical storms welling inside my liver.
There is a tidal wave of agony about to pour from my kidneys.
There is a blizzard of regret swirling behind my retinas.
There is a tornado of terrible wrecking my esophagus.
There is corrupt acid rain in my muscles.
The threat of loss is sleeting in my spleen.
Poverty precipitates up and down my spine.
There isn’t place enough to put all the pain in the world.
Within each organ we store our own, who is big enough to store it all?