I tasted the fever of Your existence

seems like cold grain to my mouth

I stand aside, I stay away

transmuting my quicksilver blood

KIA - that I may see

ZOS - that I may touch

insipid are the describing words

the self needs no vulgar praise

This worship has no supplications

my rite is to live and do

things naked, pure, of honest lust

the throbbing vortex feeds on it all

Sleep is the best of possible prayers

the winged eyes are blessed to see

downtrodden deception of every torment

transpierced hymens my lust adores

Many images yet one raw flesh

animal steps I love to tread

an ideal point where Time is Space

memory giant sores this journey must heal

Lady of Mourning and her monsters

lay down the scythes for here I come

joyful and priapic my baby soul

a new-born one, ten million years old