Before I knew doors close on living dreams,
I entered

I found faces thin as coins and blank as paper
and watched them morph into living ghosts, whose thoughts
painted me with gray. A herd. A commune with eyes alert,
mouths wrenched with patterned speech, arms taut around
my swaddlings. Brief imitations blinked within their
clouded eyes.

I screamed once for exits just before
I lost myself in howls mundane,
bored and barren black,

since in my graveless death I'm a leader
of the pack.