Slice-and-dice sound bites
chew on the worm-germ
infesting my slippery skull.
The vapid hunger feeds on itself.
Like an aborted cancer clinging to life
it crawls back into the belly
hook-pricks along its raw umbilical.
O the sweet-meat of death dreams:
tempting vapors that swirl and curl
deep into the night nostril.
Mad-mother wakes to the wail of her fetid fetus.
Contractions contort the brief sanity-slivers
that pierce the counterfeit labor pangs.
I am a victimless rape victim.
The bloody seeds of sanity
spill out from my spread-eagled soul.
The crime is mine. I asked for it.
I nurture the beast that feeds
deep in my fertile skull-womb.
I whored my shaky psyche
for a willful dance on reasonís edge.
Pam Patterson © 1995