| Calamus, taken to the pen to relive
|
| Every identity we replicate
|
| Without will they live again within our intimate collective
|
| Animate
|
| All the dead we bring into it
|
| A burrow
|
| Of human
|
| Memory
|
| The pen, the feather and the needle are alike in death and life
|
| Looking back on what had happened when the feathers had arrived
|
| I realize I was not alone
|
| I can recall the men had got infected by it too
|
| Having contact with the foreign components infected them
|
| Before, the factory was known to make the highest quality of bedding
|
| Cutting, filling, stitching fabric with the finest down from all around the
|
| world
|
| Yet this down flew through our death dream barrier
|
| Intact
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| Its contents are hostile
|
| The A.U.M. |
| will kill everybody not in this compound
|
| The dead I bring to them awake
|
| And join in flight above my head
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| Its contents are hostile
|
| The A.U.M. |
| will kill everybody not in this compound
|
| The dead I bring to them awake
|
| And join in flight above my head
|
| When the ink coating the wings made contact with the workers' skin,
|
| it crept into their blood
|
| Turning them inhumanly violent
|
| They grabbed and tore and bit and clawed at one another and themselves
|
| Gravity and death from loss of blood had no effect on any member of the crew
|
| during their frantic battle to relieve their bodies from the ether lifting them
|
| into the air
|
| Die, then elevate
|
| Fusing remnants of spent bodies
|
| Weaving bones and organs into an inverted nest dug in the ceiling
|
| The black sludge casting out from the center as a starving bird of prey
|
| I heard its voice and felt its need to find the child made of teeth,
|
| and begin the human murmuration
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| Its contents are hostile
|
| The A.U.M. |
| will kill everybody not in this compound
|
| The dead I bring to them awake
|
| And join in flight above my head
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| Its contents are hostile
|
| The A.U.M. |
| will kill everybody not in this compound
|
| The dead I bring to them awake
|
| And join in flight above my head
|
| Its banshee wail demanding feed
|
| I hear its pain and become its keeper
|
| I rip the living from the night
|
| Like pulling worms from soil
|
| A.U.M. |
| watches these sky burials
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| The boy lay like a wet mound of dust on the rotting factory floor
|
| I knew the black fluid hid itself in the deformed corpse of this child
|
| Finally, after hours into cutting, lifting, pulling, sawing, crunching,
|
| clipping, I had found it
|
| My crude autopsy revealed
|
| Bounty nesting in replace of the marrow in the young one’s bones
|
| The second I saw it, it saw me
|
| I knew its face, changing relentlessly
|
| It was The Drip
|
| I had it contained as instructed
|
| Filling up many clusters of hypodermic needles with the matter
|
| I administered it into a new subject each night, a new life
|
| One with every full rotation of the clock
|
| I’ve seen those hands meet then disengage a thousand times
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| Its contents are hostile
|
| The A.U.M. |
| will kill everybody not in this compound
|
| The dead I bring to them awake
|
| And join in flight above my head
|
| Calamus will animate
|
| Its contents are hostile
|
| The A.U.M. |
| will kill everybody not in this compound
|
| The dead I bring to them awake
|
| And join in flight above my head
|
| Its banshee wail demanding feed
|
| I hear its pain and become its keeper
|
| A.U.M. |
| allowed me to live off the organs once the people took flight
|
| They do not keep me against my will, yet I refuse to run
|
| Every day I climb the stairs outside this door and view the horde of lifted
|
| dead that they conduct behind the factory walls
|
| I must hold on to the final tier of focus
|
| I still have to scribe these happenings in hopes that someone will know what
|
| went on here
|
| I can feel the pressure of their unified, unscripted flight pounding air down
|
| on the floorboard, just a plank’s width above
|
| I rip the living from the night
|
| Like pulling worms from soil |