Creation-sick

When I think of all our creation,

Our love and chests

Our sweet skin 

and chubby cheeks

Wrinkling and turning with the wind

This heart leaps through darkness void,

made in turn by us,

Or our emotions

Or our ancestors

Primal and baring teeth

Raging to begin again.

each instant in this structure of pains and pursuits,

All fibers and molecules and fabric

toiling and bubbling to surface-

Presenting each to each, and most concealed.

What heart!

What gaze! 

What life!

To burn in love is to sing forever in harmony.

Each delicate spoonful sipped and savoured to soul and mind.

Creations blinding quick

finding pulse and moments brought into sick fullness.

Shaped by organisms beyond. Flowing and rushing in ears and veins.

Rhythms to push and stack, and frighten our dreariness.

To sigh in deep reverence.

To breathe in sweet remembrance.

To fall in swift abandonment.

This is the spiral we climb.

Shine and flow

Bleed and squeeze a drop

Into this pool, waiting and furrowing for each morsel.

Seeds burrowing and bursting abound,

Bringing a stability or a time to this.

They too rush and fold, and heave and falter.

That heat of day, when the blackberries beat their red jubilant suns

is quickly turned and sticky with drippings of crisp apples air. 

How they implore us. 

How we connect and change with them.

One universe in a gaze of a berry piece. 

More in a bunch. Or none in a round.

Down, and true we go. 

To the forgotten, slow and low.

Burning soil and worms and grit. 

Fabric fragrance ripping through skull and wrist,

and knees and groin. 

Clambering.

Clawing.

Fastidious and fearful.

What to find! Where to dig! 

More and full. Gorging and rotten beneath roots and bones.
This endless malaise of centred depletion.

Suckling at the engorged teat of wealthy lies. 

Plastic and fragmented. Electronic and diseased. 

Sinking in swamp bogs of envy and lack.

Reproached. 

Disgusted.

Guilty.

This too a folding or a feeling.

Certain in our fortune to manifest,

Blind in the soil of bats and dry dust moths,

Lingering for a humming warmth to bring life or consolation, or feeling.

Consume this: my heart for you.

Breathe this, our weary strife.

Become flesh destroyed. Be death and resurrect life.

Once more a slice, or thought or time.

What power! 

Such force! 

Canned and pocketed, employed for good use.

Both smiling and able, connect to bring peace.

Pushed and stable how rushing and quick this chase moves.

Speed, speed, speed.

Swift to join the pulse. Come. Be.

Slip into deep orchid stems. Swallow the cornered moon.
Rush for blackness in still oceanic nebulas of thought.

Become creation.