Demi-Humans

As the arms double back into the cell,
the head tilts onto an electric stem.

Floral propulsion from the hungry core —
undone palms release their hammering nails.
The face re-emerges in a giant's mouth of dog teeth
as the chest cage rattles of bats bequeathed to the cyclic turning of our peeping limelight.

Elasticizing pupils into vertical slits of their dark
for the refuge of mechanical creatures at their witching hour.

The mass grave shakes of bleached bone,
and the serpents arrive by the bells above the coffins.

Avarice — no — could not care for much
of the firing above the fidgeting ears localizing whaley hymns
from which to return
but a ship of a conscience
that camped on the invisible boundary lines
as the twilight loomed low into the souls of legends.
To capture that squirrely pulse
in fur and scales.