A straightforward review that makes sense of the work in question:
I gumshoed the room
Che Elias built recently
Of Tire & AnonymityIn the center, like a shower drain,
stood a stone and mortar well
A damp bucket hung from a frayed rope
Ghosts moaned from belowLight began to rain through the ceiling
The floor beneath me was a parade
of chalk outlines
One looked like me then, but not like me nowThe ghosts below began to scream
Light poured, and water flowed
under the door to prism it
The chalk bodies washed away,
save a few prism-aimed,laser-pointed ghost wombs
The water was soon pouring
When the flood breached the lip of the well
Ghost wombs gave birth to bones, andThe room became a whirlpool
I clung to the well’s wooden posts
Skeletons swam passed, diving
toward the screamsthat wouldn’t drownWhen the bones dissolved into the darkness,
the screaming ended
I imagined boney-breaststrokers
swimming into wailing apparitions
Then lying back down in a parade of gravesThe water finally receded, and I shook like a dog
I left the room and found
my yellow crime scene tape
I even slapped
an “Enter at Your Own Peril” sign on the doorfor my colleagues-JJ McNiece