Chyron on my brain,
the inexorable crawl
that will not halt,
textual evidence
of nothing—
indecipherable, all,
gleaming glyphs—
utterly alien,
better suited for some
ancient urn or wall.
I did not ask for this–
this silent
internal pulse,
cacophonous caterwaul.
And yet it is
irrevocably so:
I must answer its call.
I cannot defend against
its tooth, its nail, its claw.

09/06/2020

Posted on 09/06/2020
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