Zilch-Chapter 2-Hatch
No slits watching, the lumps draw near
Reforming slowly, the Peak becomes clear
Forming fingers, then twitchy toes
Returning quickly, from Smith's Repose
Streaky strips of pus aligned
On a cage organically mined
Stars above a starless glove
Where fingers coil to give a shove
Lumps leap down from the Seat
Toes and fingers, strike and meet
Wilting flowers with every catch
Further, further, 'til it feels a latch
Writhing round the handle's shape
It has no strength as a mangled cape
Searching inwards, with no eyes
"A SiNgLe pRoBlEm HoLdS mAnY LiEs"
Like how the plant changed temperaments
The carcass embraces the elements
Hugging the hatch, its metal form
A searing goo begins to swarm.
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