Dancing Dark Spiders poetic Mytho

Dancing Dark Spiders poetic Mytho Dancing Dark Spiders Part ThickThe ìThe Dark Sunday, plus the upper part of the Galapagos, pouring a flood of brilliant, radiant sun: involuntary movements, delusions: riddled jungle, and my puzzled brain-entangled?. Down and around the tributaries? seemed to slow performance night with my boat? Goblin s faces? dark obscurity, riding high, as high as leering faces in the neighborhood? gloomy trees whispered:? Death is often dark and painted, there are the spiders ghost dance of the trees of the Galapagos. The walls, embankments islands threatened to crush my vessel? "As he pushed and pushed, hugged and threw, thrown, and blew, blew two of us on board, on the islands shores. Boa-like roots from tree to tree? All apparently made, has reached as many snakes? Everywhere: here and there, broken down to reach, as cloves, a coiled cord looped another.It was as if the plants are still alive: the way in which we wrapped two? us invaders, now side by side with the hawks and humming, lava lizards, marine iguanas voice; giant prickly-pear cactus? Cactus? everywhere, crabs, all the sea lions, penguins, seagulls. The leaves, undergrowth, twists around our torsos, eyes, clinging, adhering to our throat, sometimes blinding us, choking, suffocation, such as frozen mimes.Rambled my wife? See, look at the dark spider dance, dance on the root? It points to a tree in a hole, two more spinning, dance, dance? Hypnotically! (And is not it? T much to say, I jumped on it, and sucked his pay? Bone marrow from their bones, their heads, as it was empty as a jar empty now; Ambrosia should not have.) Odd as was? next: the long dark thick black spider, climbed, climbed the roots of the plant to get a better look at me to see with my eyes only, look hypnotically (my mate was dead, as dead) only the eyes! Uncontrollable spasms started? Never, never had a man, a man went to the sand, my eye sockets cable now? I skipped within.Part IIDelirious DriftingIt a nightmare, is not insured, with a fever and all, without doubt, he was alive? Unfortunately, it was not his wife? t. (His voice sounds crazy with the story of doctors). And so it was in the jungle, it was lost, no eyes, no eyes, and broken fingers? swatting flies, where d go. ? The boat? found the boat. And about the islands that float. Died in his eyes, his eye socket, which is now a spider? Nest, which incorporated in its front edge: pulling, chewing his bones, sucking the yolk from the eyes, pulling his eyes? castrating his cranial lobe. After all this, all of this? He could, however hazily see? through his veins and hanging rail, and the roof of his eyebrows. (The island has lost, and rose at dawn: it was a demonic island, where the spider in the hell of henchmen.) Now has an illness befalling Ambrose Ashton Keats? befalling him as a thief to death; hard and threw himself, clasping his hands, tightening the systems we have felt in a boat: the knees clasped to the seat?. Its eye sockets seemed monstrous deep red and pale cave grottos; demonic spider with orange and red? in view of its most fearsome knees.More that, if possible, his foot has grown into a network such as toads, demonic things. And then, when he sailed across the sea, tried to sleep? Thus, the dreams of her lover, he d never see again. But in blind in his brain, are weaving spiders, weaving their evil game; excreting demonic beings, while the birth scream as pain, screaming that refugees from vein to vein, and the birth of Buer and Gusoyn? Henchmen from hell was. [The victim? s hypothesis was new to the doctors, as Mr Keats is trying to explain.] The current in the sea had Wilder? as he searched in vain, and I saw the pictures? only jungle islands are all he has seen, unfortunately, in his boat? Ebbing with fever, his thoughts moved forwards and backwards, the consumption of raw fish, floating, just floating. (said a doctor on the team? This is not a dream or something earthly, it may not be from another world, or maybe the distance I have to say? perhaps a demonic mandate?) Part IIIParoxysms [As he and his ship driving aimlessly in the sea] automatic spasms, cramps? spider-webs woven, sewn in his eye-sockets; bloody bones outlets, unbleached wired to see what is not for humans. He wipes clean, recklessly. He is like the branches of trees: Schwingen fall? Thrown back and forth, back and forth in his boat. His heart beats VILE or a prayer does not leave his lips. He packs his composure? Ill willed, and all the febrile, drifting, just drifting? Now he has left the front as a pass, now the insects crushing his face, his attempt at cables, as he swat and swat them? Food for the spiders, as it comes towards the sea, the green peacock. [His mind is like a melting glacier, an awareness of loss, as he looks and drives.] The moon was low in the sky, coiled snake Shadow: jump, jumping across his ship? or so it seemed? grotesque. How to accompany an army? They pulled his boat to shore.Self-holding, sitting, accompanied by those who have huge holes, volcanic rim? Female eyes, looking with spiders, takes its anchorage, uneasily, he jumps into the water near where the water, the water in which it appears. [And this is where the story has changed, because he is, and in the hospital said the doctors of the story you just read, but now for the climax.] IVDance the SpidersLooking help, help? or simply people who do, so he looked up and down on the shore: Leopard pre-set deep in the cheeks, web feet, his life as if someone was decay sucked all the spirit of his approach? than his wife? dying.All was now his veins now, through his pink such as meat, demonic beings hidden in his chest. (In case of death: he is now, like a bull slaughtered in the hospital because the doctors about it.) The Demons have had their food: milk for the body, tufts of skin color? stretched out like a lizard. They were now the man sin.And Ambrose Ashton Keats [patients], died when he came from a catatonic posture, in a deep sleep? Since the two spiders (demonic agents of surrogate births) slowly scanned by the eye sockets, on the eyelids that never close or winked, just cried and cried for relief. Now his sick eight-legged animals were to see the dance? Dance, dance solo on whistle and pissing.Note: Written: April 2004, revised in January 2005 [Prose poetry],? Dark Spider Dance? See Dennis' web site: