the juggs

deathstar ... 

hissing and spitting 
ssshit she can hear what
we are ssssaying ... 

I can hear footsteps
on the gravel ... 
feeling quite out of it 

the pagan tantra 
neanderthal club wielding 
covered in mud and seaweed 

a thing reviled .. . 

the pounding rhythm 
relentless on my ballet dress 
trapped inside a pitcher plant 

the dischord wrapped around my neck 
a dichotomy too much to bear 

the music making jagged 
volts that snag and yank 

on the muddler 
the alter of diabolical ravening 






1.11am , 13.02.13. misc draft