impurity corrupts us. we are fallen ones, chained visionaries whose prophecies are clouds in gemstones and x-ray images. degeneration is in our marrow, a name for the defects in our souls. our bodies tremble, fighting to regain heat and vigor, shake demons from our shoulders, and remember to us that we survive. reticence weakens our voices, drawing us into a colorless distance of vertigo and doubt: characterized not by incredulity or skepticism, but a resonant, vast dread.

©2000 Timothy A. Clark