a brief e-videns of breath

back and yonder, forward and aft
the swing eternal, lush and vicious
no prisoners taken, for there be no quarter for time
it's tentacles scythed to the ground
nature gives a grinding lurch with the contact
the scream, internally hollow
broadcast through bone and sinew
leaves the recipient's aura twanged and raw
though never knowing the source of their consequence
the itch and crawl of vibrations neither seen nor heard
can make for a finely filigreed sunopsis
ahhh, naivete
such a lame excuse for clueless manners