In the beginning, there were objects.
They had no shape, no form, no
moral value. They were hazy
outlines of an unbuilt land.

They grew.

Lines coloured in; fleshed by
love and death and pain
and laughter; oh mocking laughter
How I missed thee. Images

Became

Something real; unknown; always
a variable to my broken constant.
Humour of the devil erode me;
Wrapped in a fur pain rug; kill me

Alive