Too long under the covers and the secret mutates;
A tampered empiricism, a secondary telling; not
Doubt but a mutilated strain of truth thirsting,
Thrusting. The scrap of disdain that informed
Fight is now the lulling of soul. Guilt of surrender
Shucks pride, takes flight. As unknowns assume
Their trajectory on a constellation of infinite riddles,
You are left wondering in a maze only the chosen
Are condemned to navigate. The secret thrives in
This maze of loopy contradictions that severs all
Links with the real, cuts out air, reeks of dark. It will
Uproot you lest you unmask it with rapture and skill.