The turtles in the
milky water will eat the
toes of the bitter folk;
Nestled under a stoop I cry, eyes soft and wrists barren. A little child approaches at my feet, reeking of urine and stained as a grainy marsh.
Looping about I see him blink, shadows flickering across his face, from chin to brow as if he was in front of a burning flame.
Horrendous were my desires, as I wanted to maim a deformed figure from lust; for simply unlawful conditions. I do not know why this need was fondled within me but it was there, and denying it would have been silly and foolish.
I do not need that, what I need is an escape of self and resurgence of prior form. Maybe not quite so angry as before but my closed eyes will lap up dreams and devour my plights once again; just give me a little while to rest.