"I am thinking,
which moment
was I born?"
was it, the day of
mass from womb
or was it, the day
a society of agents
— like a swarm of ants,
each numb
walking circles
without trails
without name,
first uttered:
"I am thinking".
A drop loses herself in the puddle, The river's spirit is engulfed Ushered downhill from high To low altitudes all sentient sentiment...
I When told a twisted flute cannot carry A dulcet tune, that we are all hollow now, try as we might To ignore distant calling chimes....
Humus weighs heavy Swaddled in thick mire mantle Sleep now, nimble bud Among writhing roots forlorn Tall shall sprout Sun's blade reborn
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