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Stories of the deep,
creeping reprieve of peace –
creatures made of nothing but stares.
They’re aware
of fragile
fears and panic –
confused thrashing of the horde.

The echoes, the shouts,
the screams and the laughs –

Pandemonium born,
groomed rows of perfect teeth,
alluring promise
of what dwells beneath.
Stories of familiar importance
passed between dark places
thoughts feel unsafe.

The falls, the traps,
the snares and the grasps –

Someone said
they could smell the sweat
of sex
and they cried
“me too –“
a frenzy of something
and little nothings
claim going Dutch
on passion and sanctuary.

The predators
dwell –