Sacred Circuitry

I murder myself to nurse ourselves
Feed paper back to soil so bark can breathe easy
Can wear its intention without fear of being rubbed
No need for limbs in the liminal
Spirals map the bones within bones to polish
We are bullets
Able to disperse into bouquets of
Born from poison we wriggle
Into divinity manure
Hot floods around the curves
Able to upturn each time             up
Our lips                                look


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Encaustic collage 2020