Rendezvous with Yellow-Eyed Jack

The more he paces the less

I react.

As his weird and wile head

bobs and throbs beneath the

shower of torrential sunlight,

he may question, he may writhe

like a raisin on the in and out

side of his skin.

But within, somewhere behind

those cloudy rotundas of 

viscus cream jelly,

he is somehow

alive 

in a way I will never be.