10-31-2008 If you stare into a mirror during a full moon and say the name “Veronica Lodge” 3 times, she appears and gives you the worst home perm ever

Today, my ears have edged to sharpened spears
that prick apart your words. My teeth have ground
to daggered spikes that punch through your sincere
desires. Furry longings grow dense around

my skin and bristle at your piercing wails.
This monstrous face is but a mask – a roar
that can be shed like water from the tails
of dogs drenched by a clumsy puddle. Yours

can not. Baptismal fear nourished and spawned
a beast within. Mist gathers thick and cold.
I see unfocused forms wav’ring beyond
the haze and call to them. They must be told

about the horrors ready to befall
before your molten anger dooms them all.