BABBLE

The confusion of tongues is growing
Growing, groaning, growling howling
At its own bloodletting:
The rational has become rabid with fear
At its own face, at every mirror
Seen advancing, at back front on all sides
Its own savage soul
Disappearing up its own backside.

Yet not escaping the shadow
Insatiable self fury revealed
Realisd, accepting perhaps at last
Its own true awefulness for what it is:
You me we, not them: that other
Who always bears the blame for not Being.

I don't know what you mean.
You can't possible mean me?
I? We? Little Me? Little, little Me?
Can't be...; Surely?
God forgive me.