Afterdeath.

Woke up this morning with no pain.
A stranger stares back in reflection.
Something in my head says,
"You can have it."

I think I know what that means.
Feeling grounded for once,
Looking at my body, "hmm, not bad."
Maybe, there's life after death.
Maybe I will take my time,
or just switch black with white.
A seed with the magic trick,
with time, and you can have it.

Unborn.

There's a place called the Mother's Womb.
It nurtures a seed till it's swept away.
Don't look twice inside this digged grave,
so much echos of the cosmos' rage.

A fruit rotting in the all-giving tree
landed in dirt and made it a gift.
Don't be fooled or you'll lose the vein.
There's no tale about the unborn babe.  

Domesticated Cock.

Domesticated cock that is
a warm penis. Old faithful
that erupts like a pocket clock.
Swing around with pee.
It's harmless, just stinky.
In the open air free as can be,
cradled with cotton & fleece.
Occasionally it would sing in glee,
getting wet in a cave so sweet.
"Hello, I have information
that you will want indeed.
If you miss this opportunity,
you will die horribly!"
"Oh, warm penis, won't you
be kind & leave me alone,
stop wrecking havoc?"
The domesticated cock is
not pleased. It bobs its 
head like a penis not wanted.