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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