Every window has been shut against me,
every door,
though they were always closed,
save for death,
which slips like a pale flame
through the bars,
into the hidden corners
where existence hides its trembling.
No lamb’s innocent cry remains
amid the howling pack;
no doves of love,
no tender wings of song,
only ribbons of red wound
wrapped around the boxed judgments
of these crooked courts,
measured by scales
that have never known balance.
And now,
with no place for a hand to cling
upon the slick enamel of these dungeon walls,
I surrender to flight,
and to death,
to escape the claws
of judges butcher-like,
whose idea of justice
is the equality of teeth
sinking into the arteries of the living.
Now nothing,
nothing,
can halt this flood of un-being
as it rises
and takes all things
into its dark, unstoppable tide.
