The crown effect guarantees ends don’t quite meet in the folio dome of this cathedral.
Timorous squeaks and piercing pleas out of reach to uncaring ears.
As atheistic as I am, I recognise the prayers of the prey,
the pleasures of the predator.
Withheld warmth brings my uncaressed flesh to shiver.
Croaking, he hops. Eyes sharp, beak sharper; unobscured intelligence.
He’s come for my liver.
Head dips, gore drips and I am reminded of life’s
carbon carousel.
Scream if you wanna go faster.
I had screamed, but what came after was not speed.
What came after was
dilated
time.
I aligned myself with the smallest of beasts.
Ants. Watchmen beetles. Dispassionate and industrious.
Clouding eyes fixated on them; skittering, chittering.
Unmindful of the violence above.
Dry twigs and my bones were indistinguishable
snapping beneath brutal boots.
Roots remodelled cheeks
deep lividity carving the caved contours into violets
blooming in darkness.
Ragged jagged breath and nails, too, tear
for any available oxygen.
Desperation transforming
grunts to glossolalia;
debutante to cooling cadaver.
In the post-orgasmic vacuum, psithurism roared.
I seeped through dank earth
and releasing claim on physicality,
observed from without.
