A thick fog, of infuriation,
and the sound of panting,
(an exhaust pipe
for the guilty excitement
of wild blinding rage),
filling up the emptiness
with emptiness,
so I am giddily consumed
by the sight of streaming red,
and all the possibilities,
oh, such sinister beauty,
and how I can taste
the euphoria of madness
on the tip of my tongue.
And then, laughter,
a peal of it, echoing
from somewhere above.