The rooms of my subsequent passage

But this feeling had come that day, the day I was arrested
And swallowed up everything inside it,
So big you could not really prove it was there
Except by an arithmetic of absence and the memory of better days.
And I had moved around in it, whatever it was from one point to another
utill I had wound up behind the razor wire at Elmwood in a place so bad it was like a Piece of broken glass to rub up against that big empty. And thereby growing aware of the thing that had swallowed the world. Though it was only just visible and then only in sidelong glances, not a feeling so much as a form of gas. Something I could almost smell in the back of my throat
Lying chill and inert in the rooms of my subsequent passage