Where lines happen.
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.
It's like a dark net so sharp you're seeing it not with your eyes. No longer feel a beat only the presence you no longer fear.
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 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.
I enjoy the smell of my groin & my feet as I savor the morning breeze. Pet chickens stare at me with dinosaur eyes lead me back on earth. Birds rejoice & sing, timelessly. My universe is filled. Books spill stories of spirits. I marvel at boxes so neat.
