Mirror on the wall, Whose gaze chills my spine? Strangest Face, surely not me.
Your quisling, mealy mouth Entangles my death and life, In amber I freeze
The dust hissed with the first rain drops. Sam watched the darkening earth from beneath the bridge which had been his home for weeks, feeling
My everyday life, Descending minor thirds, chime On ominously
Formless, black, creeping, At the corners of your mind, Making you its home.
We drove on and on into the desert, the sun setting behind the Bacatete mountains. Jon had explained that we were going to see his