no words

I am the purple eggplant char
Hovering over your orange sunset swirl
Storming the night’s long anxious nag
Tainting your idyllic rhythmic dreams
Fleshing your boundaries raised and angry
I am the he, the hue of terror
Two shades darker painted as my beard grows longer, coarser
A wide and wooly, black and grey chaos to my heel
I am the waking flesh splitting winter dry
Seeping to chill your warm soul

I am the stomp of well-knit limbs
Snuffing your innocent Western mind
Mammoth and timberous strokes of ignorance
Blanketing your blissful intellectic seek
Marking you path exhausted and raw
I am the common, the shadow of truth
Languishly deficient as my wrap twists tighter, darker
A thin and linen, white and bloody noose to my chest
I am the satanic drip off your idle fingers
Draining the veins till body’s rest.