When assembled, 
they release discord out of their pores,
the enmity of multiple ages,
deeply embedded in their core,
and gall that lurks round the corners of their mouths
trickles down the walls of my stomach, 
engulfs the floor that endures their presence, 
drips from the very seats that bear their warring souls.

When conversing, 
they conjure up the Tower of Babel,
which possessed thousands of conflicting tongues,
a gibberish that is unique in its kind,
simply because it has nothing to do with the essence of discourse.
I dream of a couple of corks 
with which to blockade their noise,
but I think it will be still audible 
in every nerve that throbs.