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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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