This place is ancient and baleful
and filled with the organs
of now ashen men and women
I’ve never seen.
And this dust is much too cold
for now.
This cobwebbed, grey place
with long dead crawlers
and a silence that resonates
is swallowed whole by my dilated pupils.
And now
these deeds are much too old.
The walls have seen
banana bone marrows carved out
in faux-hubris by sweating men—Murderous,
this place shivers under and out of my eyelids.
Murderous—this place is the end.
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