Self-Loathing

Lizards crawl among the cracks in my skull —

Ex nihilo nihil fit:

by great divine ordinance

was this clawing, gnawing,

scratching, scraping,

vested upon me like the laurel wreath of a great Olympian.

A simple, fluid distaste

disfigures

into

a rigid, sublime hatred.

What more could possibly be at stake?

The moon casts its hazy yellow rays into the clouds above me.

Softly, carefully, and in a distinct lack of haste.

Those striking sky-bound creatures —

their beauty sleep must have been disturbed!

They make off in a hurry, 

lugging their wispy masses close behind …

The water at my feet wakes as they pass.

They must be flying quicker

than I could ever imagine.