The Fear has eyes,

It sprouts ears too.

It sawed straight through -

Now it has a mouth too.

It looks at me

Stares straight through.

It came for me,

Hope it never comes for you.

The Fear has a brain,

It has a matter-of-factness.

A radical exactness that is purifying.

The Fear is a vixon,

A seductress with wandering eyes.

The Fear toes the boundary line.

The Fear is a waster,

And it's superficial.

It has no narrative,

It has no vision,

The Fear doesn't look for me,

I find it slithering

Beneath soggy tree logs.

I find it rotting in the desert

Bathing naked with the moon turned off.

The Fear is an optical illusion;

The closer I look the more silly it becomes.

Such a nuissance to me,

Such a nuance for them.

But this, My Fear -

I can never top it.

Looking down,

Eyes facing up -

I suspect the worst hasn't happened yet.

Don't wish me luck.

The Fear is a concubine 

Beautiful enough to prey on good times.

It leaves nothing for me,

A flying scot in an empty sea -

Tied to nothing,

Floating -

Nervously toward the seagulls

Chasing the horizon.