Bad creator
It was unspeakable -
Centipedes uncoiled from the drains
The sky green split above the cinema
When the unspeakable -
Things with millions of legs
Capered in the car park
When this unspeakable thing occurred -
The gutters gushed with crimson acid
When the green thunder knocked
Things that smelled of bronze
And gleamed articulate
Pistoned their vinegar legs
Curled upon themselves
And flexing outward
Waved their unfaces
But I see that I create them
They come out of my body
They pour out of my mouth
And I am all mouth
All shabby verbal
And after this efruction
I will become millions of things
And all parts of myself
Will run from the light
And hide in dark places.
