Sow of Dreamless Sleep

The stone forest breaks beneath my feet,
after I stole away from the drunken feast.
Sick in my heart, Sartre's nausea
and the mirror of Narcissus reflected
in an empty wine glass.
Away, away
into the arms of the ancient ones,
my wooden ancestors who serve me silence.
Bone of bark,
the broken body of leaves,
who reach for me with splintered vine
and from my light shot eyes black out
a falsetto pale blue sky.

And in these woods,
away from man made desire
and loose lipped gyre,
do I take my waning self.
And in the darkness do I stumble
across the beast,
that sow of dreamless sleep.
A boar, that ghostly apparition
stood at the door to hell.
The black blood of flies
buzz around its carved iron face.
It's listless grin,
that hideous mask of holocaust nature,
of leathered skin.
A body hot and salty to the touch.
Whilst I
A stone cold silhouette
against the depth
of time
and space.