a hallway built from centuries of flesh,
the untranscendent stuff that we might eat or
fear, generational food for many more
than the most brilliantly acclaimed despots.
a hall for walking down without legs.
but what do i remember from before; a hospital room
in the white it ought to have been but without instruments
or the synthetic clack of machines pumping fluid life,
two dead men who were not(in the simplest terms),
who stood up to excrete their last in an explosive off-yellowish deluge
that ran after my feet.
i left, waiting, with others, seemingly young but knowing more than me
with a history of men they carried on their tongues,
a germanic heritage sacrosanct.
there was no water that was not human,
this was only an abdomen with only one road and i should have known that
but in the last minutes clinging to the ruddy unmade bodies of
my comrades, my mouth manages breath in this place bereft of air,
and i want to know where i am going--
this is where;