but what is this contaminated wine, what is this contaminated blood, what are these cups overflowing with the water of monstrous life, what is this cup overflowing with the broad wilderness, filled with every plant of the field and every beast of the field, what is this giant chalice filled with water, eels, carp, sharks, and what are these alligator teeth doing under my pillow . . . I sleep with my head nestled between alligator jaws, I sleep with my hands down shark’s throats, I plunder the wildness of the elephant and tiger, I see through shark’s eyes and bee’s eyes, I sting and I bite, I AM TOOTH, I AM CLAW, this is my testimony, where are your demons now, O glad moon, and what are the depths of the void but that valley from which none can escape, that place where there is no light and there is only danger, that place where we journey through in our sleep and where we return to at death, that place where reason cannot prevail, contradiction forms the only logic, mathematics is incoherent, everything is shadow and mystery . . . O this fog covers over my body, all these toxins wear away my spirit, all these poisons and teeth and stingers are tearing apart the fabric of my being . . . this is my message from the grave, these are the words that drive me crazy for my inability to scrawl them physically upon my tomb . . . wait until you enter death, and you will see nothing but words all about the gravestones and tombs, nothing but words written in florescent specter-light, the words of the dead, the words of the poltergeist, the words of the ones who cannot enter the realm of the living again, this shall be your scripture in the forevermore, and they are incoherent, wild, crazy words in the language of the dead, they are angry words and longing words, they are words of love, they are words that rule over the half-real lives of the devils and the reasonless lives of the angels, they are your scripture now, they are the irrational contradictions of the realm of shadow and chaos . . . these are your little mouths, all about your body, you are made of little mouths, mouths are on your arms, hands, legs, ribs, bellies, cheeks, mouths are on the back of your head and on your feet, and they are all speaking a constant chatter, they are all speaking at once, they are all speaking a thousand chaotic and angry things . . . you cannot flee them, they speak your scripture, you are dead, and you wander the face of the earth looking for a sensitive vessel through which your myriad mouths may speak, you cannot write the words of your thousand mouths yourself, you must have a body to haunt and torment, who will write your words for you . . . your mouths never stop speaking, they are constantly hungry, they cry, they wail, they bite, their bites are poisonous and their lips are frothy, you are dead, and you cannot escape the scripture that is constantly erupting from your body like so much pus and semen and terrible eggs of terrible things,