dry dock – six
the ghost and the draft
On and on, along the one way.
And quite a quiet way without a word.
No end in sight, otherwise;
nor anywise at all.
|
something like smoke; senseless density and preposterous scale. |
Thinning not, hinting naught;
on and on and on.
|
ribbons of disrendered aether, each aflutter. they roll. |
“Hey,” he says, turning to her.
|
the road from hell |
“Something wrong?”
|
is paved as well. |
Now—
oh boy
Wait-
—the cold drops hard in a windless rush.
—no oh no please stop PLEASE
Noteless noise collapses in on the small voice;
ɿɘvo ϱniɈƨoɿʇ ƨɘγɘ
his world momentarily mangled mad and shredded to static.
she may be alarmed
STOP PLEASE STOP PLEASE STOP
who can say?
Something like static;
dmυn ϱnillɒʇ bnim
pretense itself weakens now and bows to cracking.
The third, fourth and fifth docks are each within sudden sight, just ahead of them along the now less long left side of the only one way.
Just beyond the fifth of the five, the other end can be seen.
Between them lies a familiar something, of some kind.
she pays them no gaze
something here has gone terribly wrong
and the moment, it seems to the ghost
may never end
But it does.
NO no
Or seems to.
please
And it moves.
oh god oh
Something does.
Behind them.
Something terribly wrong staggers from the shattered hush.
godohSHIT
[say.] it says.
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT
[have we met.]
FUCKING FLY!
fly fast