Heir of pipes and afterlives… black astrologer of knives. When the lights go out for grace, he’ll read the end from the darkest place. Vinyl sighs; the lamp goes blind. In the basin, threads of time, He folds the daylight into a jar and labels it: You are. Smell the oracle of the low light trench, conjuring kingdoms from the stench… divines the fate in scar and rent. Subterfuge of the visceral night, he binds the living to their blight! Formalin jars become his tomes, Biopsy bites like metronomes, looped intestine maps the scar, Intussusception, volvulus star. Threading a prophecy of scope, fistula hymns in sutured rope, shadow-play across a pain, barium weather, fluoroscopy rain. Recovery room of dim blue dawn, IV drips keep visions drawn. Whispering discharge in a morbid sibilation, your future leaks, sign here for perpetual coagulation. Wheel the body, mop the trace, mask the relic, close the case. Down the drain the oracles run into the river where prophecies stun.