Recycling Reasons For Being

Through the nonce open void we are spat out in mucous; Just as is the regurgitation of nether regions that make us. Screaming, yet again, for being swallowed into delirious repetition; Just as is the deglutition of vestigial virgins that forge us. Be made, and make for the same sake of snakes, Whose ouroboros becomes whole when a hole closes its poles. Circles spinning into themselves, Amongst nautilus shells supposing gold ratios. As we spiral into the chaos of order, And told to support its shape, We’ll never escape the corporeal trap, Of seeing reason in running round replicate laps.