Imminent, eminent

I am intolerably close. I can feel it in my bones.

These bones are wired. Wired for plugs, wired for life. Synapses interchangeable with spark plugs. I find myself crawling, against my will, out of the shells.

Perhaps I was not meant to return. The halls sigh as I leave and creak as the door closes. Then why am I drawn?

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Let me be no nearer in death’s dream kingdom.


About this entry