I have seen the old one on her thrones
heard her speak the blasphemies of truth
through the slow and turgid drudge
of nameless aeons with a torturous voice
a shapeless vastness and division without end
she fills up every crevice every breach every depth
she whispers in low voices whenever skin is near
the call of procreation spawning enormities
the will is genetic the world a feeding ground
birth mother of maggots the death-life multitude
sprawling amorphous substance this old and foetid ooze
excrescence of a cyclopean biosphere undead
magna mater yesod svadhishthana ia ia shub niggurath
a fertile pool of slime viscous molten and divine
nonlocal a hyperthing
she whispers in low voices whenever skin is near
the call of procreation spawning enormities
the will is genetic the world a breeding ground
birth mother of maggots the death-life multitude
black goat of the woods with a thousand young