and in the hairs there was blood
strange blood
like that which has concealed yet flows
his fingers probes the feeling
a feeling of immense tension building up within him
like the grieving of a mother for a dead child
that sentences in a mournful court
that which is personal protest
the earth to death
the blood wanders about his body
it feels the geography of his bones
his skin
like some inner universe it navigates itself
to the feeling that is probed
but it is to late
for there is a silnce now
which grows in darkness and consistency
curdling thought
yet when he smiles
he is beautiful