mantaraye

Shadows slide down sky smooth walls,
they gush like waterfalls down sloped stone,
they trickle like rain.
A funeral crawls along in my head,
treading with a beat sick and constant.
They drape me in cobwebs.
They clothe me in silk.

The things they tell me:
It is inside, they cannot get it out;
but it will break open my ribs,
as it hammers against my lungs.
I ask them, why is god silent?
They give me no answer.

There is a hound howling in my blood,
it is dark and yellow eyed.
In the night grows a special kind of light:
it illuminates the shipwreck of my wonderings,
the disasters of my dreams. Creatures burrow
through my veins like nightmares,
they patrol each black capillary.

I stay in dark places.
I drink from rain clouds.
God is still.
God is silent.

Notes: after a quote by Richard Eberhart:
"You would think the fury of aerial bombardment/
would rouse God to relent; the infinite spaces/
Are still silent..."