Show me to my sick sweet dark cave. The cave where dreams stab at the clumsy waking mind. Where the wounded and forgetful sleep crow is welcome and not mauled, by the growling brown beast of perceived consciousness. In the day I walk- Strut- confident in the ground beneath my feet. Falsely sure of the surrounding wood, predictable and ancient. When I hunger- For nourishment, pleasure, thrill, peace, I find gravity a weak and cowardly foe and rear up, effortlessly, Onto my hind legs and roar. The sunlight hunt is simple. The sunlight hunt is cheap. The sunlight hunt is fake. But when the sun goes down, and the woods go dark- quiet, I become human again. I become that primal evil we've scraped and sacrificed to shrug. I become the human- not the man. Law, conscience, faith, true, and false, hesitance, meaning, worth, thankfulness- No. Sight, Sound, Breath, Blood, Focus, Freedom- The mirrors of "existence" have fled, and not broken- its too seamless and quiet for that. The cave echos only wind and broken brush. Claws become words. Fur becomes the past, the future. And the drool hanging from my fang- Remains the same.