Alone, but for the innumerable, in a cacophony of pandemonic howls; he weeps inconsolably, an outpouring for the downpouring
Hollow and immovable, akin to those withered rampikes propinquitously poised; one within a wilderness of wails, yet never felled
Tremulous and numb, as the thunderous wrath disturbs the brume that consumes him, assaults the superego that subsumes him; a fellow man, not
A beggar bound in mute torpidity by their vanishing touch; the maggots feed and the leeches bleed, for mere nourishment, is he, beneath the boots atop his shoulders
Their discordant gnawing – picking and clawing – strips the dignity from he they tread; a destructive perturbation of diminishing identity
An ever-growing grove of rotting madness remains; greying roots and spraying splinters, tearing limb from desperate limb; if only, to be seen
art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński
