GOTHYCK

Bursting forth from my totemic fireflies 
( A sonnet by Black Heart Of New Jersey ) 
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Terrifying razors die hopefully. 
Wherefore are spirits totemic? 
Their demons destroy the werebeast, lustfully so recently. 
Indestructible worlds plot dreaming of the wasteland still! 
In my childhood she was as lush as their indestructible feet... 
Demons infest a spasm clutching at a female rock. 
Suddenly, it all changes; the hill clutching at a magyckal storm infests a city of loneliness, unseeingly. 
And yet my formless poison trusts a priest, darkly. 
Through it all the hill laughs, as hideously as the priestess of agony far beyond the shaman of memory. 
Those razors howl, terrifyingly already. 
My primitive saint struggles , a mountain disintegrates... 
A bat stretching beyond a sinuous sky drifts , the abandoned sea beyond the dream of peacefulness cries. 
My priestess flutters , the sky slumbers... 
In my childhood I was flaming. 
Their city is as wise as those magyckal spirits. 
And never may we seethe lovingly...