it meets us now by a soiled stream of other nothings.
having travelled from the sewn eyes and mouths of the obedient, uninvolved,
it fills its hand with our necks and swallows our pulse.
it demands i feel both no more than invisible and no less than the grip that invades my skin.
how it discolours my tongue.
“silence. how?” i say.
how it reddens my eyes.
“silence. you try to take too much” i warn.