The thing that had killed me flailed its arms and danced,
Gibbering like a goblin.
It had vanity dangling out of one empty orbit, or perhaps it was only
The claw that I lost when I raked it,
Wiping out the left side of everything.
"I still have the right," it wheezed unpleasantly, gloating.
I was weak,
My ghost and my breaths darting in and out of me,
Offended to the core,
Shocked and rasping.
"Dust is dust!" the thing squealed idiotically,
Leaping, cavorting, launching itself against the unforgiving rocks around.
It gained strength as I lay on the ground, bleeding out, suffering.
Its laughter was horrible.
Finally, it brought its one good eye up to mine,
The one closest to God, furthest from Hell.
"EEEEEEEEEE!!!" it screamed,
And I closed my face.
My skull rattled within my skin...
Without hope for myself, but with great hatred for my tormentor,
I made my jaw open, my tongue move,
To speak a single word in dying.
Hearing it, the thing choked, pie-eyed, head on a swivel;
It jumped back, fled itself, tore itself apart with horror.
In that moment, how I loved my own perfect cruelty!
What did it see, you'll ask, there on every side?
What eyes followed it like dread fate multiplied
What was the whispered word that made it lose its mind?
The thing had killed me, but killed me too late.
I had time to call my cherished ones,
To manifest my revenge in a single word:
for dverse poetics "wild"