After Hieronymous Bosch
It begins without your permission: the stench, and your newly grown tail. Under emphysema skies, ravens. Behind you, bees on fire. Venom is on the move. A gargoyle asks a priest what it must eat to get back into the Garden of Eden. This landscape wobbles like the cilia of pornographic fountains. I am traveling by shadow to reach you. Beware any hyena hands handing you villainous infants. Fear will be ripe in you like an STD. Ignore the roast pork faces of demons that shriek your name.
