Growing roots it gradually aged, branches dying falling submitting to
the earth's reclamation, until only a dead tree standing in the valley's
"pink moment," like the launch pad of a nuclear missile abandoned
to "the mystery of existence and death caught in a single apparition."

Standing in front of an open door beyond which is complete darkness,
I'm chanting
Other, Other, Other, Other...imploring the crude body of
my spectral fears to belly forth and reveal themselves.

Awake, something chilly brushes against me.

I shiver,
alone, in total
              darkness still

I feel an overpowering urge to call from myself
the fierce god, seen or imagined in the blacker
than "black, sinister night."