And here I explore the consciousness of a tadpole. Wet life seeps in to my spine. Mud dries on my skin and tightens the hunters purpose. I walk into the clubs back door. Black box room. Lights pierce and heels stomp.
Sweat and smoke and sex spiraling its fingers between my legs. Laced moccasins whisper lullabies through the night. My ears tethered to the creatures of night. Of elixirs and potions and dreams. The usurped lines of morality bleached my skin and tumbled my hair.
I wash upon the shore of antiquity and lie beneath your feet. Validate the corpse and flesh melting into the sand before wind carries my soul to her throne. Caterpillars climb and trace patterns to anchor the codes of the stars. Harness the threads of a spiders web and carry the spider on your fingertip. Lead with your spine and walk backwards. Twist and turn and gnarl towards the light as darkness plunges and punctures the clock.
It’s morning time. Wake up.