Torpor went about
doorsteps, writhing
for full feel.
Each motion overextended
in hellish laze--who chose
this concatenation to knock
these knocks?
Whose flamed tips forcefully
enter, inscribe smoke upon
a doorway's horizontal beam.
Come, everything that can
happen, is happening to me
as you leer, magnify your
favored pore.
Plus or minus, please perceive--
this equals the same set of responses
in Equal Measure.
Reverting to one another, as a moistened
line that slides a blinking eye.