Member Poem

Part snake,
three-quarters wolf,
a lion's share
of savage superstition
and bloody ritual,

wanton and capricious,
it comes wilding
and rumbling
through your dreams
blind as a cave fish,

reeking from the stench
of some subterranean grotto
where the sea abandons
its rank organic debris,
where slime white grubs

with a lineage older
than the fang or the snarl
have long since tunneled
the bedrock of your soul
to a wormhole maze

which defies both
light and exploration:
here lies the darkness
we all possess,
a nest of shadow rage

which knows no song
but the high cacophony
of a bedlamite solo
screeched until
the throat is raw.

Appeared in Asimov's SF