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i tire of the lazy storms
in your soft-porn winter,
the mundane musings
of your suicide summer,
your bottled autumn apocalypse.

let them fade in the wind
like the thawing stink of spring.

...and the terror?
there are those who touch on terror
yet never land.

please,
speak of the fear,
the diseased embrace
of your complete submission.

i need to taste your
wild twitching in the dark -
your mad spasm in the light.

these are things I understand.

and what of it?
there are times i drink it off.
there are times i sleep it off.
there are times i gather my forces
and fight it off.

yet what remains
when the skin is shed -
or is revealed as the
simple truth of
soil & spirit -

is that wonderful horror.

swallow your fear of beauty.
refuse to fear the subtle movement
of the insect
just beyond your vision.

drink directly from the vein,
and scream your ode to nature -
or whisper your final requiem.

& here,
somewhere in this strange architecture,
we will meet.

(Ai...feel free to respond/react to the stuff I post...It seems like people only review their friends' pieces around here...give us unknowns a chance...)