All was a plague,
septic and malignant.
All was aflame,
Putrefied and blackened . . .

Three great rings of thorns,
to this festered void were born.
Twisted and concentric,
away they ticked,
away they turned.

Crucified,
amidst branches
entwined,
pitch black eyes,
sunken in
a hung head,
under crown
of thorn lies.
Brown leather skin,
a withered,
rotted titan—
distended and swollen,
pregnant of daemon.

Spokes of lines
spread from the navel.
Thick stinking flesh
peeled from the middle,
petals
of a blistering blossom.

As the vessel unfurled
to a boundless womb,
unspeakable darkness
yawned out.

Glints of claws,
Gazes and maws,
scraping and gnashing,
writhing and thrashing,
shrieking and sloshing,
howling and sobbing.

They poured from the mouth,
of fangs and teeth;
the flower
of the beginning.