dark matter
no doubt twining in our
bodies like rooted grass
filling the atmosphere
with –/+ spiral arms and
black suns/sons and daughters
with space to move with out
tentacles reaching toward in
communication with self
afterbirth be dammed
each our own wilderness
of perfection
trimming the nails and
the edges with shade
and electric lucidity
turning off and on
the lights
No comments:
Post a Comment