in a different room, an antechamber, its walls of doors closed hot, hot as I sit in a jag-joyed circle pentacle, also my torque-rage gouged notch by notch stints, splits as time, each a voice’s detail sear-scratched darkening etch past cortex white to black ganglia scheme, is nigh, is what we get for dysfractalizing, is this unending—is vivisected line