The mind surrendered: melted the metal, and this shaft rolled down beneath the ribs.
A heavy stone, swallowed in dreams, fell numb in the womb between the walls.
This is not thought – a tactile archive, a few sutures on torn muscles.
Undigested meaning hardens like a scar on aching flesh.
Lips wearily pull downwards, like brushwood – broken habits.
And the motor skills of the fingers are dull, like a blind track in the forearm.
Sight pierces straight through these things, for there is no escape from essence –
The gaze sinks into dark water, into thick opaque fuel oil.
Wars crawl past me, restless partings and cities.
Reality has driven itself into the skin like a nail, yet fear passes these shoulders by.
The rebar of twisted veins no longer craves an intoxicating triumph:
It endlessly pumps ore, turning lymph into misfortune.
I have never drunk this life – only the beating of my deaf heart.
I merely carried the idea through time, so that the reserve would be preserved in the joints.
Metaphysics became saliva, a cobweb of interwoven nerves,
Which changed my chemical composition, like hail that shattered ephemerality.