Ia [12-17-01]

Even in the quiet moments,
They can paralyze.
Just beyond the mesh of rhythm
squirming through the mind

there lies a darker river.
Some sad, paradoxic dream
that spirals down the throat
of worm-like dredges. Darker streams

have never yet been fathomed.
The Old Ones cluster there,
far beyond the tissue, through
the mouth of disrepair,

where skin hangs low like drap'ry,
panic worms inside the eyes.
None can flounder backward -
The Old Ones drink their cries

of desperation, tortured by
the dark silence Within.
Travel down Their river,
here the soft echo begin

to force feet backward,
undertow caressing in its pull.
Eternally invaded,
breakers splash against the skull...

The river pours its terror
dark the farther down it goes.
The Ancient drink a darker dirge;
They suffocate the soul.

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