Where does the need come from?
Can I pursue the source, pull out tenuous root �
die sensuously to lead a normal life?
No � the root feeds a dark craving
to drive a wild passion fruit in to my skin,
to burn ardent flames brighter than a man.
I loosely slap on my moral fibers � deep grays
and attempt a sacrificial purity, an impure sacrilege.
The soul core is of magma kept under pressure,
suppressed by a mountain of granite.
I am unable to find the fount
where my heart lava ebbs.
Is there a science to discover here �
the �art� and �ology� of releasing volcanoes?
If so, I am a pioneer.
Copyright �1999 by Toshi Casey. All rights reserved.
Toshi�s biography page