the two dark dots lining the inner flesh of the left cheek.
vertically-arranged(, bloodstained) pockets pinched between molars like a ferrous, coagulated punctuationmark about what comes next.

the sundering ,
ingrown self .

the ancient / holy tomes of
cell-division, ****** with beyond acts of revocation

the way the world is pulling upon its multitudes
like an
eventhorizon .


as the rotting bodies fade into automaton, the pilots are last to notice the tailspin spiral hurdling towards the opposite of escape velocity.


meat-soldiers march on : doom-doom-pa-doom,
the wardrum syncopates like fashionable trends in the facsimile of art,
conjuring embalming linens around each precious ***** pointed at the Outside.
entombed with all the splendor and reverence of an unceasing hunger;
the dead are their own kings.

a banner is loosed in the storm wind,
torn to shreds with an unrivaled ease and ferocity that only “waiting” can deliver with such impenetrable authority.

little is left to recognize, amidst the skeletal ribbons of a cause
once
set as herald to these unspoken prayer cloths relinquished to the force inside the rolling sky.