In a world tamped down
to cimmerian shades,
streets and houses
thoroughly shrouded
by the shifting umbras
and penumbras of what
little light remains,
fields and forests
bound by darkness
beneath an indistinct
sky drained of color,
faint eidolons may
flicker across the
screen of your retina
with the herky-jerky
action of a silent film,
cast and crew dead,
trapped in repetitive
motion like the
forms that traipse
across your dreams,
testing the reality
of daylight wisdom,
stretching your mind
into the fearsome
realms of a senseless
half life that may
exist beyond death,
beckoning you to
join them in the
drear silence and
convulsive iteration
of their promenade.
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