There is more to it than that,
much more, so much that it always
threatens to overflow. Everything is
overflowing into the sacred void.
Everything is dragged parallel
as the whirlpool deepens.
Looking down a long corridor,
a man dressed in gray holds
a flail in one hand, a rosary
in the other. Running, there is
no escape when the doors are
smiling faces. The mouth is time,
it captures the radiating abyss.
The eyes come in when everything
is dissatisfied with itself, to
bring it back together.
The ears are only good for sleeping.
A queen can be found slashed
to ribbons in her bed,
the perpetrator had no motives
but the scene, the spread of his confusion
and disillusion.
A pope peers
from behind a curtain
to the absent referent.
This is just what I've always wanted
I'm so comfortable
Nothing bothers me
any more
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