Aglow,
the farawayness distilling my throe.

Even so belatedly
grab the harpoon
hurl
the Horla!
Aside the blameworthiness
of going autoimmune!
That’ll disentitle
the machine to live
under a detainee’s mantle.

But then, who spoke?

The one who lessened your doom.
Didn’t you know?
The amputees
will always haunt
ilkon outcrops
from that staple swoon!