gas panic
I wake up
chilled to the
marrow
Sheets stuck to
me like
wet tissue
Between my ears
the screams of
dead children
whistle through
the night
playground
chants
still come from
their dry, paper mouths
Gnarled faces
knotted in pain
the lips
desiccated
ready for the
freezer
where the grey
ice
packs up their
nostrils
little crystals
hardening
the fissures
of their soft,
licit
brains.