It is like a religious experience,
The walls and moveables about me dimming,
Angels hiding in all sounds.

My eyes scroll upward
Examining the space behind my brows.

The swords and worms
Which minuette with the ghosts of my guts and skin
Remain unseen.

Although hairs everywhere
Are electric
And their tides are pushing me outward,
The angels, ghosts and guts loom,
Gathering like a glowering storm.