She veers out from under the earth,
the holes in her hand act as the retina of forseeing.
five feet beneith the surface she dwells
telling the fortune by the feet that tread over her.
faint it ticks, like the line of universial interest.
Dictate to her the gravel she may swallow and inside become apart of the worm kingdom.
the benidict womb she calls it.
the cell of her cellulite growing expanding reaching onward to the king that carries that burdain.
she waits, and she does hear him four miles away, the pounding below the surface. she invites me not but she lets my ear lay low to what she may call SOUND and REDEMPTION.
pit pat go the feet and redeemed she says so go to greet.
pit pat they repeat not looking for but a discovery of the new meat.
dear god she whispers to the T shaped tree.
the holes in the hand are but the acid sting of that wasp the wasp of fear.
for long enough we have sealed this beauty inside glass jars, not able to breathe but to make away around humanity, she formed a chrysilis and she called it the WOMB.
five feet she beats
and proclaims for i am the way
i notice now im looking at the tree
through the marks that wasp layed
and its eggs unbaked are the plastic sufferege of what is to be.
Last edited by grey helm
on 05 Dec 2004, 13:21, edited 1 time in total.