Pseudonym

Life, as a pseudonym, Drags its shadow's shadow, which snarls Itself around traffic cones and Streetlamps, tearing at its skin With deliberate intimacy To alarm light witnessed Only through strained peripheral vision. A lace-stitched veil Slips through sidewalk cracks, Unisolated windows, Cataract smooth eyes. The flesh of the matter invades Such as the Red Death In living color--Vibrant Cadavers speak the language of Love: Mortality; It slides over possessive nouns, sticky As salivation, Push and rattle and harbor themselves against Warm, wet cavities eroded In the backside of actualities Sweet Tooth. Authentic miasma, honest illness. Any footprints discarded in covers of dust In which Fear has been recognized Yield into thoughts by persuasion Of waves.