layout, idk....
/////////////////////
The horses are stabled - all
those red-eyed females
trapped behind blackened
walls of shuddering brick and
stone, baring gums towards
brackish skies, tame and
useless and mute. If I could
bottle clouds and send them
instead as packages to open at
sleep they would fill up the
spaces between one splintered
image and the next, and
cushion all those restless
hooves that like beetle-
thoughts and ant-noise clatter
indiscriminate behind the
sheets of twitching eyelids.
They are only empty sounds,
muffled by solar wind. Our
monsters are made by the
memories of fear, intangible
echoes of ghosts that in the
dark loom huge and grotesque,
exaggerated by flickering lights.
Along the horizon there is a
city and it burns up in every
shade of sun.