I've spent this evening trawling the SC archives 4 - 7. I came across this:
A conversation with the dark
So tired of it, you bastard, tired of waiting,
tired of halt-breath time, anticipating
your cloven footfalls on my ribs--so blast
your eyes and ears--it's in my hands at last.
You sit like dust again behind the door.
I yank it wide to seize your hair, and roar,
I have you now! And slighter than I knew.
It was your shadow I had feared, not you.
I grasp you, grip you in my termite jaws,
you pissant prick. I seize you in my claws
and squeeze, you rat-turd, arse-wipe, moldwarp, minge.
The stalker stuck, laddo, too late to whinge.
I've grabbed you, gagged you, so don't try to beg.
Shut your throat and listen: Chicken. Egg.
Alan
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