CREATURE OF THE BEAST
The beast is the cover, the beast is the chapter and verse. The beast is smiles at dawn, and breaking hearts at dusk. Cup your hands with pride, stamp your feet for deliverance. You are the gods creature, creature of the beast that never sleeps. Angels fizzle and spark like damp matches. They surround the beast, but have little to do, and even less to add. They are the appendix to the scene, the endless numbers and notes of days stretched out without interlude. So the beast smiles and winks, and you blush with anticipation, and you flush with pride. Master and deliverance, friend and anticipator, lover and caught breath - the beast knows them all, and uses them, all in cycles and streams - but you knew that and knowing gives you the stories and dramas that you crave. So let him slide his hands down your hips, let him whisper the numbers into your ear, let him quiver you at dusk, let him entice you at dawn. You are his animal, leashed and chained, the cloud of independence, the freedom of angels, never really disguising that pull at your neck as the beast draws in the leash and yanks at the chain, gods for a day more.
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