Intensity expressed in claiming and owning.
The Smell of impermanence clouded with beauty
cleanses my senses.
Brings me back to the ground.
Fills my lungs with dirt.
One and the same with earth.
In circles round and round.
I am lost.
In a bubble floating across indecision.
Overcome in the mystery of producing.
I am found.
I can’t catch up.
I can’t catch up.
Why should I want to?
Why should I care?
Song of my core, submit to the sky.
Everything in an effusion of effort.
The heat toiling in subterfuge clashing and striking
against my intent.
Boiling blood pouring ripped and slipping around calluses decorating my palms.
Hands aching, strong and tired envision choking any pretend tyrant demanding an undeserved obligation.
I can’t keep up.
I can’t keep up.
Keep your uninvited supplication and selling.
