Sometimes a Little Mental Scraping

Sometimes a little mental scraping,
Shh, shut up, the oxygen level is
Getting low… to free the bubbles
Of nitrogen, the carbon dioxide fizz,

Whoops, and there (below) are the
Thoughts trudging, chained by the ankle,
Whipped, dull-faced, where is that 
Gleam—faint awakenings rankle,

Plumes of darkness, and when
You want to climb out of this
Abyss, hands rough as cement
Pull you into the necropolis,

Gather in, rise, that iron sky,
It is not invincible, you can
Plunge into the sunlight
To truth and peace in the supernal man.