Gravity has a sister.
Men chant her name in the firelight show;
one million flames set alight the owl,
deciding the fate of millions.

Old complexes nest eggs
in our morality; more potent than the id,
and akin to the ***** degradation
of all sweetness and limbic reaction.

Fork your tongue to revenge,
and you will feel her tug at your navel.
She'll tense your fist, fight for your place,
she'll grow and learn to swallow you whole.

And then you'll be lying on your front,
to set a front for all inferiors.
She will be close at hand in the hindbrain,
she will be the shadows to your thoughts.