My breath is a menace I'm told,
whether indoors midst vents
or outside under towers.
There is no refuge, no Prince Galahalt
to slay invisible, variating, Dragons.
Overburdened Angels of Mercy
stoically vent about those
they've lost patience with and euthanize.
I look out between blinds and see
well spaced lines of bodies in masks
under Sun's kind light who look
like variants of the Stoic Angels
knowing the tales and tailism are endless,
a terror induced enclosure without escape.