"Speak your mime," they said,
so I did,
only to find myself both mute and vilified.
"Open wide," they said,
and sent the carts,
rattling along the darkened tracks like spastics.
At the bottom,
is everything I ever choked back;
milky-eyed, fat-lipped horrors, with folded, featherless wings,
and a knack for surviving on each others' blood.
"Shine your light!" they said,
as burning moths fell from my eyes like splintered bones;
"Fire in the hole!" they cried,
bright with glowing logs inside their own.
for The Imaginary Garden With Real Toads