it is dark, in here. and there are
drips of acid to break down creatures.
is that one of them, the fawn with white spots
becoming a ***** as drips drop?

the walls of this cavern are
a fleshy criss cross of a kitchen sponge (soaked
in yesterday's dinner) and a tight strip
of rubber.

if the beast opens its lips and shows the pine trees
that root themselves in enormous gums
(needles pierce the inside of the demon's mouth
and spread a sickly green all over) then the light spills in.

who taught you to growl when
we tried to climb up the tendons of your throat,
to shake us with a thunderstorm of bass
back into the ugly pit?

there was no mother that could love
this beast. so it kept us forever
amid soaking carcasses of last year's supper.
(vocal chords rumbled) and we know we are small
and we can't climb through the forest of teeth.
so we might as well stay forever and give
this beast our love.