iv.

it starts with

a surge,

 

the intersect of

neck, solar plexus,

 

words — — then,

the dark descent

 

down, down into

the cave drawings

 

of who am i?

 

hunted,

haunted,

 

built for

slow idolatry

 

and waiting:

which is its

 

own electricity—

self-sustaining

 

legacy.

after all is

 

said and done;

after all the

 

battles fought—

few won;

 

what am i here for?

 

 

 

 

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maybe

maybe the place you’ve been stabbed in the

back is where the wings begin to sprout.

 

maybe we are the same one hundred people

returning to earth again and again until the

 

truth comes out: who we really are, what we

are here to do, how the sun is a dual entity:

 

for life-energy and for fire. if god can feel

wrath and jealousy, what hope have we?

 

multiples recycling through this planet,

spending lifetimes growing wings,

 

swimming through the dark glass

mumbling thank you and please.