You may be written this way

Spun in strands sewn in thread

Blood woven to the child you once were

Huddled in the fold of night

And the demons beyond the corner

Of your eye stream down

A flurry of arachnid limbs

Twisting and tumbling you tight

To feed upon later.

You may be written this way

Stung senseless at the side of the road

Waylaid on the dark trail

And the recollections beyond the corner

Of your eye suckle in the mud

Dreadful fluids seeping

From improbable pasts

And all that might have been.

You would be written this way

Could you crack the carcass

And unfurl once more

The child you once were

Waylaid

Wrathen Urut

(MT, UK Trade, p.232)