Senescence (Visual-Lies II)
~ PUNCTURE-WOMB ~
Creating pretty holes and lovely hallways;
Making spaces for stained~glass panes.
Now sunlit, with vistas of red, soft on edge;
—My Womb with a view.
You’re Holy Grace.
Your womb, laid waste.
You are Whole, erased.
Your hole....
—Debased.
This Life, like the Ones before it;
Follow suit, and again,
Begin;
Unwinding.
No Life to lose,
But to pursue through dying;
A Life I will find,
Behind this One...
The Dynamo,
Is hiding.
I will not drag with me a filtered soul;
Nor pass through a deviant gate.
I will free-fall, and fully separate;
The Me, from Me;
.... Regenerate,
And finally;
You
Will
See.
There will be no condensing of Love.
No remnants to collect.
Or on such knowledge;
Reflect.
No nostalgia brought up, to hearken back;
The manipulation of its touch,
Earned;
Spent,
On my interpretation of trust.
With the years left,
I will perfect;
Syndrome X.
Like this dying man’s last breath,
I will;
Rapidly,
—EJECT.
Whether learned, lost, or naively taught;
No companion found through visceral feel.
The breaking free, of yet another - Me,
And I come to find I am rising.
By favored reunion, to the purity of dust refined;
I Recombine.
~Recycle– Rebirth– Collapse~
Not a single strand, left intact.
For I was made in place, and left to surface;
With this, the only purpose:
—All has been to tear away, bi—sect;
and separate from home.
To flee home;
To find home.
And to always be...
On Our Way Home.
(1977)
Another take. The second look at an old friend.
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