here in prehistory the silence grinds

like a second star
in the gold light of Saturn
breaming tongues of fire
on the cold broil of the brain

skulled-in squarely a flickering husk
and there go the dreams like mosquitos
to the cranial grave
shew your voice against that hush
with faultless animal empathy
curse your ghosts to a pyre of peace
in 4D purgatory
eviscerate the simulation
with sayings from elsewhere 
the place where breath is born 
that lives inside the sounds and symbols 
of words and morphs, disfigures, transforms a world self-generated.