-Don't say I am the truth
like you're a virus and you spread:
the truth is, viruses recur and are rampant
but never last:
the plague, they worsen, they keep you
sick and a bed, expose you to
the mortal terrors of the night:
shadow cum real & smoke made claws-
they hunt you but
until you feel that tightening round the neck
you don't see them, see they're real
& all intent to scoop you round &
nestle under scales, muscle, & black.
Is your neck sore, Janice?
do you quiver under the wind? menaced by
sweet-fringed trees? do you live
obsessed by that poisionous threat
that turns you alien?
-Alien I am & alien I have been
I titter when you twitter, when you see
me in my sacrificial silk, seducing
the earnest young: we harvest, prepare
the feast from birth - I am your old friend.