See how precise these abstractions can be.
Like the moaning of koans, one finds in the sea,
that longs for the sun to transform it’s form
into a mighty tempest clutching the breeze.
Linking the Egyptian Nile to my backyard tree.
Life that mimicked nature
has now risen to mock, with stories of creation
Risen to rape, to consume
til’ there is just
naked ape left,
who will not be the first to discover
how his lost kin
confused clothes with skin
naked for sin.
He would cut out his left rib
protecting the chamber
where if we had one, the soul would reside.
For a chance to love again
and to reinvent sin
to instruct with the rod
in the name of a god.
And we will forget how we ever lived
with empty thrones
and star filled skies.
There is no place loftier,
than the surface of your skin, purgatory
in a place between
macro and micro
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