Canto XII: Kulpa Tends His Crop
The poet paused, collecting scattered thoughts,
and drinking deeply, then continued on:
Again, the guilt imbiber, Kulpa, came;
distilled himself to dream in slick disguise.
Fe became aware of Hul’s physique
as she awoke, or thought she was aroused,
and in her semi-conscious state forgot
by mechanism of the mind evolved,
the horrors she had recently observed.
She turns to face him, memory forgot.
She, eyes alight, draws back at the display,
so heavy had her limbs and chest become,
all flight and shriek were stopped in stillness black,
just as breath is stolen in a fall,
she, powerless, was forced to view the sight:
That there was Hul, on hideous display,
strewn naked as the night when she had quaffed
his flesh, most antithetical to her
and all her toil. But following the flesh,
the hips gave way to chasm there where once
the belly that was starved in childhood sat.
The cavern all was set in hideous black
and red, which spread out wing-like through the tent.
So similarly were the innards spread,
the pit of him emitting horrid reek,
which filled the tent with hot and humid stink.
And from the hole there seemed to come a breath,
or hiss, which whispered as with tongue
that here was all her labor to behold.
The eyes she noticed next, almost as fast,
for they were not the eyes of someone slain,
but living, wide and wild, and lunar-bright,
transfixed upon her face without relent.
Staring there, she felt the numbness fade,
that first reaction of adrenal wane.
At last she felt the shock of it subside,
and at that weakest moment did he speak:
For all your subtle heresy,
what slouches now in womb,
waiting to be born?