Spreads like a cancer.
I understand that now.
It means speed. Real life clipping along like time-lapse photography. Watching the x-rays as the dark moths spread. As they flit from lung to rib. From rib to spine. And from there to kidney, to brain, to liver, leaving every recognizeable organ swarming with black shadows.
Next, they rise to the surface, drinking deeply from the bruises that grow now, like flowers, on the backs of my father's hands.