Rendered behind inertia. You have to picture cremation. All the ash twisting in the wind, flaking the cheeks of walking flotsam. Moratorium infections threading silver people to scaly muscles pulled by crooked cranes of bone. How often have i woken to the cement you've brought home and taped in the felt vapors braiding the backs of my eyes? Brain held by kite strings like hair being hanged in mock-tails that cheat my vision out of painless exit.