A BOOK OF TERRIBLE THINGS

Through the eye; a silver thread,A fragile reminder of reveries put to bed,From corridors footfalls have already tread,As sacred and profane are wed,Shifting reality; separate then blend,The dissonance to which our screams lend,A sense of relief; a beginning to an end,Pantomime; a charade of a soul we seek to mend.-Josef Desade, Mirties Kauke