A cold place
(long hallway, dying breed)
paints itself warm with
the contagions of
skewered cerebellum.

A void of frame
shows a warmer, longer
hallway, with monochrome pillars;
opens up into charcoal sky:
painted by the charcoal eye.

Yet, fear –
later, below a wooden cross,
rests the screaming of a thousand
souls.


I SHOULD FLEE

Escape is not an option.
It has me;
the color has me.