Hal's muse

A writ, a play of words, and that I must obey but what must I obey? For already I sense myself in shifty planes, words slides past each other and the lines in between of empty spaces are filled with an echo, of what is implied the shadows are thickening and I grasp at the invisible chains, not knowing where to hit for it is a heavy chain, it is water, it is thick air swallowing me whole.