Author: Carlo D'Anna
Hey man, time to get down to the Dry...
The stillness, so star studded. No slightness of Breeze, nor falling of feet, enters the night.
When quiet, so near happens to awaken sounds of budding branches, or snap of growing crispy tendrils, seething in pitch darkness.
It is to behold earths silent mystery's,
nourishment of myth, sustenance of the dry evil,
so plainly wrought from the infancy of our minds.
Positioned squarely at the yawning threshhold, my curiosity slackens, I slam the teeth shut, as a staccato climax surges.