This cruel word,
these crippled phrases,
this ungainly verse,

Drips from the tongue
as liquid fire,
torrid slag,
overspill of countless
casts.

Burning all those
who dare stand
before it,
with the open eye.

Those left
in its wake,
singed and uncertain
of what just limped
past them in marching,
mangled lines.

Disfunctional,
awkward processions,
seeking to make
some kind of sense,

Of these green shackels,
these chains of coin
binding us blindly,
to this inhuman drudgery.

Searching these nether regions,
unexplored by so many,
an unherlded darkness,
more and more common place,
lurking in the shadows of time.