Who’d draw a map of Nightmare? It would take too long;
you’d have to work handprints into the edges of the thing,
fingerprints clawing their way out from the center.
A house with plaster walls, exposed and un-
folded, two women huddled against the stove,
a child roasting inside it. Who? And the pale men-
like creatures, all seven of them skating
over rubble with their strong bare feet.
Who would calculate and draw, draw and calculate
the scene of it? Isn’t once
enough—don’t the creatures dance to hear
the women shriek in fear their names?