310/365: That Mad Eye

I can see what's coming.
That mad eye wheeled around in this skull,
free of its host, as it's bound to do.
It turned in toward me,
pointed into the dark root of me with a sharp jerk:
It's in all of you.
It grows in the rich soil of animal self-preservation.
You are more thoughtless fed than hungry

I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.