Genetics

This is the tale of who? Let’s say for the moment, the sake of mythology, it’s the story of your shadow. Whether for you or me begs the better question. It’s not a monument, perhaps a confession; the embodiment of false resurrection. How for you three, my three lovely daughters, I stump by the tree of stalled percussion, slow rising and hesitant, quick to detach, quick mourning abandonment. I was born by stand-still theology. I prey without reason, worship instinctively. My only real fear is one of imprisonment: That you’ll understand the breath that deceives sets fire to the forest of oxidized leaves.