I had to get it out, and the bile burned as it crept up. Each image more crass than the next.
I shamed myself in revelling in this. This is a joke, the kind where you laugh hurtfully.
The shallow warmth of a mud-bottomed puddle. Repelling, inviting. Unclean, with a salty taste of the primordial brew. Which might be the thing we have left in common.
Celebrating the old, the new destruction.