In the cave, the puma and tigress breathe fire. The Shaman spits like the cobra, the demons crawl on their bloated bellies. The shadows engulf —sickly scorpions navigating the dark, a spotted hyena laughing. Venom erupting in the veins, burning powder in the nose, the bowl of scorched oil tastes like melted copper. The breasts heave, the tongue is severed, and it's silence for the clouded leopard.
The watchful drums and chimes sing and dance, the sky explodes with anger. Purples and brushed blues, grays and yellow razors, a paint bucket pouring color.
Fresh blood rushes in violent waves; it fills the eyes and blankets the teeth. The puma shivers and shakes. Frayed feathers falling in elegant arcs, hidden faces illuminate, the growling tigress and shamanic palms upward, the torn, striped skin deflates. A smoky topaz, chalk white ribs cracking and opening, a beating, black heart gives birth.