Postscript

  Though consciousness parades
before you a tilted, skewed, abstracted reality  
there are equalizers like there are
     flags for every piece of land, an oath
for every taker, a corpse for every name.
Take for example, the night;
   its blade, rich, and pointy.
Light and everything it fills,
         swoon at the sight of it. Freckled faces
revel in the subtraction.Lungs and trees breathe at the same pace.
  Reapers partially choke, in midway alleys.
       Birth becomes a right until the gleam of dawn. And like to everyone else,
it seems better to take away blood than hope.