THERE WAS A GREAT CLAIMING IN THIS CASKET VALLEY, PINES BENEATH THE SKIEN OF MEMORY TRAPPED IN GREEN-GLASS DARK WHILE ANCIENT PREDATORS SLIDE THROUGH LEAVES OF HANGMAN’S NOOSES AND THE HOUSES OF THE HOLY COLLAPSE INTO BLACK MASSES, ATTENDED BY CHITTERING FLOCKS WHICH FEED IN TEEMING MILLIONS ON CORPSES CONSIGNED TO THE DEPTHS BY BLIND MESSIAHS THIS FATHOMLESS PLACE LOOMS THROUGH CHILDHOOD MIST, KNOWING THEN AS I DO NOW THAT IN PEERING OVER LICHEN-CLAIMED GUNWALES THROUGH TIMELESS ROT AND SLUICING ALGAE, INTO THE ANCIENT VISAGE OF MY REFLECTION THAT SOMETHING IS TAKEN BY THAT AWFUL PLACE TO DREAM LISTLESSLY BENEATH TWILIT LIMBS OF DROWNED EVERGREENS, A PROMISE, OR AN ECHO THROUGH TIME, OF MY PREORDAINED EXTINCTION, IN A MOMENT OF DILUVIAN DARKNESS, THE GENTLE SECESSION OF MY CORPSE-TO-BE