mustard gas with it's creeping cloud passing through barbed wire with a magnificent yellow intangibility; slow-moving and inevitable, unavoidable, and deathly-- --it's silent stalking is the breath of the Holy Ghost.
an anesthesia as visible as*
a mute scream from the cracked beaks of all-black birds as they *croak outside the thin, thin, thin, panes; birds ruffling and rustling like reptiles that knew better and beat the game that the mammals never tried.
Pressing, muffling, a heat so harsh and deep I wake from my sleep, running away from the pull of a endless dark tide. So dark the breaks cannot be seen in the black gulf. I am haunted.
I am haunted. I am haunted.
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream. There is no rub--all folly and hubris brings the death knell.
Where is the source? To whom must I kneel?
I can feel are my bruised knees from falling prey to false idols, but all I can hear are the creaking ropes of hung robbers.