The octopus: there is the beast of all creatures
for loathing and hatred.
The horror near retching of its swollen and boneless
uncoloured head
the calm steady pulsing of the valve in its head
in the seething malignance and writhe of its feelers
arms perpetually seeking, a tentacle entity.
And obscene fascination. A violence of feeling
as strong as a bull-fight.
Not unlike a bull-fight, the whole drained of colour,
no sound or perspective
or people: a bull-fight
with only the horror and long fascination.
Myself I have seen one
touched it and felt it,
It living
bloated potent and viscid malignance
and strong – strong with a strength to make shudder.
In the sunlight I stared at the creature, tide’s captive
hours crouched in a silent
reluctant communion
looking into the unwavering eyes of the creature
a yellow implacable glaring: and lidless oh lidless.