Clocking Clockwork.

You bounce without aim.
Begging for freedom,
But happier in
Idyllic and hopeful chains,
Afraid and pained to move forward
You ravage what you see as the image of your love,
Your body’s love,
Surrendering to the temporary preliminary stationery,
Rendered stationary until your next,
Grecian, Machiavellian Prince, undeveloped one-dimensional trait
Embodied in the form of a body,
Promising nothing in everything,
Opportunistic, twisted and self-interested,
Happens along, nothing in common besides the base, basic, simplistic, animamammalianistic
And the underlying arrogance of
“Because I can”
Spawned by rejecting humility, civility,
Accepting complacency, and the amused
Self-referential commutative reciprocity
Of form;
Of course;

It’s worse.
You deny your fate though you know
The sewn seeds seething freely are only
Rooting temporarily,
Bursting above the ground, breaking natural
Encasement, ground, soil, dirt—
Aching to develop this one an inch, two inches, three inches,
Ignoring water, ignoring energy, sunlight, CO2,
Love and care,
Recklessly salivating, nails and teeth meet meat
Hair drips sweet wet sweat—
The roots dry themselves within, digging deeper, deeper
Grow, grow,
Purge, plunder,
Taller, higher, tighter,
Faster, faster
Rip it free
Suck it dry
Only to die.
You can wait for the next one, next spring
You will;

An almond squeezed tightly will learn the meaning of tears
Without weeping.


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