As I stood here in shadowed darkness, the dreary sky
filled with damaging screams and ****** verbs spit-stained
and slain, the towering trees growling in heavy languages,
trying to understand the rhythm of the landscape, my soul
was slowly becoming invisible.  My days as a slave was
dragging me down and leaving me backspaced metaphors
across my soiled skin, craggy similes sizzling on my beaten
*******, glazed diction drifting on my slumped shoulders.
I was tired of listening to my master yell at me like I was
a filthy ****** diminishing beyond brokenness, his charred
hands always grabbing me by the wrists, forcing me
into submission, whipping my blazed back if I didn’t obey
his commands – ripped, bladed flesh smoked and floating
in a hall of hollow chambers, punctuated syllables, suffocating
adjectives sinking on the surface of my dry tongue as I stared
around the grassland, my mind watching How the endless fields
my fellow slaves and I tiled, stretched bodies buried in sweat
and hard cracking symmetry.  And as we worked throughout
the day, our restless limbs lingering in space, dazed, caged,
slated, breaking into bitter bridges beyond slit stiches, our worlds
were falling apart.  How could we go on living like this?
the harsh depictions of death so close to our existence,
the ****** name-callings crawling in our throats
like slimy maggots, slashed angles and triangles,
mangled and wrangled, fainted conjunctions
dying in despair, our fallen kingdom lost
in thunderous torpedoes.