From the Origin

Om Blankets me, folds of warmth, I could See a seam, sheer white stitch spilt A beckoning decay stench pinched nostrils Inch by inch Contraction contraction crown I hold onto to absolute Fingers buried in all—nails snag stars. Arche Ousia Telos— These my seminal fluids—severed with the an umbilical. Cement greeted descent Legs quake, I stand incomplete Siphon in expressionless glass And conformed concrete civilization As eyes open wide: wistful reality. I want womb. There is a spot in my vision, A glaring absence, smeared onto Vision canvas—its full motion contorts Plane, entices synthesia: sound implodes Brilliant hues of memories passed and every sensuous experience imposed, It spoke… Exist I do No I’ve lived You have only died That’s life No What is? Potential Existence? Me Me? Partial. In me, complete. I'm you? Yes Why live then? For moments removed are true Your Function will never be So great, in uncertainty Embrace: Life.