Into the fold
of the belly of the Beast,
In sleeping wake,
a pulse wave flows
to the tips of my fingers,
down to my toes.
A storm brews
from deep inside
I swim through acid rivers
and
find calm in the corners
of my stomach - my intestines rising
When we are of our own abatement
My planted heels my Achilles heel
When familiar is no longer
a gift
Where else can one go
but deep, deep inside?
In search of solace
in the dark...
