biting bats

Spikes of fight or flight

flash through his mortal

sac of skin and regrets;

dragging screaming ghosts,

a thousand aborted retorts

and words that befell deaf ears.

The same rictus grin grimaces

back, a thousand-fold from the

hall of mirrors in his oily mind,

assuring all that he is fine.

No, really. These bats flutter

around me, but they rarely bite.