He Sweeps Across the Landscape

The shadow stretches across a village square
Succumbing to a reflex

Streets are filled with portals
Those pools of darkness erasing certainty
He gulps and exchanges the director’s clothing
For a hazmat suit
Blood spills from the doorway
Screams pierce the fabric of interiors

He wanders about the village
Looking for peaceful entrances
Only to find that pathogens reign
Blood is on his hands
Phantom plasma that makes him seem unreal

He tries to escape by touching flesh
To become real
To become a person beyond pleasant sentences
Except expiration dates are as quick as ambition

They expire, keeping him empty
Oh well
The village persists
And he musters more effort

 

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