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.
Copyright © Leighton Stein | Year Posted 2009
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