All the past homes
Loom again, cavernous
Like rotting brains, seething
With worm-tunnels
I cannot distinguish between
Architecture and psyche
I can see through doors
And walk through walls
But never find an exit
Crowds of people
Sip drinks and listen to old songs
There is a dog trotting about
Nipping at their heels
Snuffling at the dip
Only he sees me. Only I see him.
The houses tunnel together
Grey matter liquefies
Usher's cracked dwelling
Rises again
Whole, insane, growing
To the sky. Every home a Babel
A tower of squirming bodies
A Magus ascends
I cower in a forgotten room
My hand on the dog's
Comforting, solid head
People dally and tarry
No one knows the time
It isn't early.