It holds no form its own but takes the shape
Of anything it hides behind, although
Often in flux or flag or otherwise
In strange dissimilation, a vicious rape
Of anatomy. It doesn't feign to owe
Allegiance as it chooses its disguise.
It's thick like yarn unwound completely or
A wool sweater unraveled to a pile.
It creeps and crawls like ivy up a wall,
Claw over claw, the deft assassin corps
Maneuvering through land mines, all the while
A coward, for the light still makes it pall.