slowly, near-disbelieving,
in our blindfold race to be, or
to perceive what truth may lie untamed
beyond the worldʼs analgesic persuasions,
together we pieced
these clues and visions
seized from our
inculcated dreams,
and so, discerned
its trail of shame,
grasped, and so saw past
its dress and painted finery,
and within, beheld at last
the tortured face
of true horror;
and so finally,
we have learned
its dismal name:
normality

‘an offering to the goths’ electropict 2019