I cracked my skull upon the table,
and from that egg slithered out
some trembling spawn of dormancy.
Pus’in blank, in dormant long, in dormant dark,
dormant and swaddled in barbed
subconscious, biding for that sniff of hark
to break in and tak’way that long, greater
atoning sentient—to’th when given light
out it slunk, through ooze and slush and
sloppy muck, and across the kitchen table it
slipped and slid, to the floor, and forward to
that outside, dormant no longer.
So there I was, splashed in dead,
splayed out with one eye shrieking.
Call’oust for help, of atoning sentient,
shouting last ululation o’st frenzy free,
“Dear sluggish evil deep of me!
Do not leave the dormancy!”
Oh, slug I beg; the sight of you for any longer
shall send me maddened. Send me crazed,