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Mental Cases

Mental Cases

Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight1? Wherefore rock they, purgatorial2 shadows, Drooping3 tongues from jaws4 that slob their relish5, Baring teeth that leer like skulls6' tongues wicked? Stroke on stroke of pain, —— but what slow panic, Gouged7 these chasms8 round their fretted9 sockets10? Ever from their hair and through their hand palms Misery11 swelters. Surely we have perished Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?

—— These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished. Memory fingers in their hair of murders, Multitudinous murders they once witnessed. Wading12 sloughs13 of flesh these helpless wander, Treading blood from lungs that had loved laughter. Always they must see these things and hear them, Batter14 of guns and shatter of flying muscles, Carnage incomparable and human squander15 Rucked too thick for these men's extrication16.
Therefore still their eyeballs shrink tormented17 Back into their brains, because on their sense Sunlight seems a bloodsmear; night comes blood-black; Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh ——Thus their heads wear this hilarious18, hideous19, Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses20. —— Thus their hands are plucking at each other; Picking at the rope-knouts of their scourging21; Snatching after us who smote22 them, brother, Pawing us who dealt them war and madness.

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