Tripping, spinning, snapping mandibles
grip at the turning cylinder
githout success,
pincers rubbed raw, begin to smell

A hundred eyes dream
of damp and sick,
feeding itself, heaving,
at the bottom of the room

Spreading its legs,
clawing from its nest
each knee creaking,
flexing on itself.

Baring its jaws
to reveal a wall of incisors
heaving,
in the shadows,
heaving,

Brutal, salivating,
its eyes consume
its tongue dripping filth
flickering at its prey

you,

And when it takes you
you feel your throat
burning on a point
at the corner of the neck

Just at the hairline
stinking of sulphur and sweat
pulsating, not a knife
a point being bored,

burning,

Mandibles snap angrily,
awakened between sunlight
and oblivion

The can slams into the wall
onto my boot, a crushed mess falls
and dreams its last