My manhood grows long and fat and begins to speak from its narrow mouth, and tells of the pain that is inflicted upon it when it is used to bring forth life. Then I see it is merely my phallus again, engorged, and I find the one who offers a portal for me, a doorway to enter and then seal the entrance again, my sacrifice who has ingested the herb and whose glassy eyes turn toward me, lips parted slightly, between a gasp and a prayer and love.
I press myself there, feel the dry warmth, and I call the names of my kindred, my brethren, to bear witness to the lightning that I shall bring into myself, into the tomb where we meet, through the altar of the one who has offered to me the most sacred vessel.
The jackals of that other realm begin to howl for their meat, which still writhes in my arms as I beat myself into that world, the very geometry of my flesh expanding outward, as it webs and stretches, reaching like a mollusk’s foot to touch the sandy bottom of some new sea.