The Immortal Roach

North for the fields of corn grow and many feasts cleaning dirty skin in the white river bath they laugh they cry slaughtered like sheep in blind carnage they die. East rain of slime beckons my wall of no emotion many flies to feed many yellow gardens to seed. doves with handprints of blood on them singing pitchily with eldritch songs. West the man hands with laitance my eyes identify the invisible mountains a prominent tornado coming to me in red dust I see Babel and its army of stone statues and cocoons for great bugs men. South home of the beast and his army of blue-skinned and their metal shell of magic stars. The one-eyed men were enshrouded by false-hearted white shadows and their flaming messiah. The shadows face a gray army only to be contemplated by an army of rainbow.