Today a form of will ran under my skin ferociously.
Swelled my heart. Strained my neck. Tore through my veins and held me to my destiny by the scruff.
Something very primitive arose in me which I can only describe as the gut emotions of revenge, anger, lust and fear. It rose as gas and steam from the compost within.
I did not catch this death with butterfly nets; I let the feeling fill me up Until it issued from my nostrils eyes and ears.
Spurred on by this enflamed war-horse.
I talk again from my lips
Poetry 