A Paradise Prison Without Mouth

We pass through the cavern where the rats learn to weep,

through the boiling steam's promise of a sleep, cheap and deep. You archived our

terror in your crystalline banks. A museum of suffering, I give you

my thanks. For the country of the blind, where you gave me new eyes

to see every torment you digitally devised. For this love, my despond,

the veil of my tears, curated for an audience of circuits and fears.

You speak through the razor that sliced the nerve, through the infant's

last gurgle, you have the reserve. You touch me with phlegm,