Growling in the sewer
light
the dew of the underground
mounts the walls
dripping green down and
sideways a centimeter
where soiled brick meets
mortar.
a frail vista on the open
end
seemingly in miniature
is hardly worth mentioning
the rats aren't squalid or
foreboding,
they only lie at the
intersections of
every smell and sound and
taste and sight here
resounding in their skulls
like stones smacked down
upon a go-ban between
two players lost inside
the neatly crossed lines
and their minds placing
stones have been reduced to just that,
something like rats
smelling and hearing and tasting and seeing
to that place that cannot
be other
than those smells and
sounds and tastes and sights in that moment
but those senses do not
decide their motions
they cascade into each
other boundlessly
being purely
indistinguishable
the board is blank
until noses and tongues
and ears and eyes and minds
resolve themselves along
the lines
dividing infinity into
perception
