in my neighborhood

A hiss marked the moment

Of the dissolution within

Blanched images of featureless heads

We breathed / we clawed / we panted

From the depths of unsung parameters
From the blue strictures of freedom

As we lost face

Mouth / eyes / nose—tenebrous—

Gone

The geographic contours on our heads

Hair / ears—crepuscular—
Vanished

Masks couldn’t hold us—
Our disappearance complete

“I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

— T. S. Eliot / “The Wasteland”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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