It's almost unreal—
how, after a particularly
horrific showing,
we obsessively
ravage ourselves—
conjuring the dead
and plumbing
the unsympathetic
depths of the encounter—
until
we've impossibly
managed to dredge up
some unholy.
tentacle-dragging,
irrefutable cause
who's black
hole and absolute-
zero existence,
by the uncategorical
engorgement of our dread,
we'll never
forget, but were
better off not knowing.
