In a hut, not far from the Gate,
Sweat beads nightly,
Every morning come too soon.
Darkwood jungle,
Drywall moist with
Respiring greenery's breath; it
Feeds the hunger and mends, it
Bends your
Will...I....
Will...I....
Will.

I felt the fever
Transform yang to yin,
Desire to sin; so
Sweet was the
Essence that touched,
Taking on blood's charm
In the spry, forgotten
Seconds of a magnum
Though,...I....
Though,...I....
So.

At once, the walls,
Imploding with such
Resonance and heat, that
The Beasts appeared
And roared,
And reared,
And left
The gifts,
Deposing
Here,...I....
Here,...I....
There.

Herded out,
The crack of morning,
Steaming,
Hazy,
Dreaming of the
She, the whole
In spirit-flesh,
Still partial
To Her
Breath,...I....
Breath,...I....
Breathe.

rjw, 5/8/96


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