Future Lovecraft

His darkest thoughts

Grow wings and tails,

And roost

In he middle of our mind’s

Eye

Watching the dust

of our names

in the wake of our own thoughts,

crawling out

through the cracks of cubicles.

Lest they leave footprints on the floor,

they march tiptoeing

on the ceiling

huddling around, distended

like the bellies of question marks.

The keys jingle in his pockets

As he slithers across the room,

His filmy eyes behind

thick glasses

trace for shadows of doubts,

uncertainties,

The littlest disarray of thoughts.

As he sloughs his skin

Once more, renewing

His potent poison, testing the limit

Of his strength,

We are on the point

Of breaking

Into a million shards of silence.