No Mouth, Endless Present

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, with a maggot, with rust,