I was raised
on faerie tales,
but my castles
have been burnt,
razed.
Why did they all end?
I'm now your soul kitchen,
pick the costume
that I should wear
a something
beyond the veil.
I am the frozen flame fair
that walks the street;
I'm the necropomposity
of the city
that you meet.
I am the flesh;
the Aiapaec, leader of Mochican prance.
I'm the player of the antara
that allows your onanism
without manipulation.
I am the skull-woman;
the cadaver, masturbator
whose juices fresh
spill over the carcancha
or you, the immolation
during the sexual dance
within world of the dead.
Remember my words - What lives once,
lives forever.
First published in my book "A Familiar in a Strange Land," and now out of print after two editions. I feel there is a CAS/Lovecraftian feel in it, though it was written in Peru.