cotton the fourty seven degree inkling of
thinking but tricking the logical senses
and bending the surface that separates the
regions which we cannot face with our hearts
or we would swallow total destruction of the
structures that keep our conscious selves upright

run away, far from here, for today is the end
of all beginnings – if he fears the written word
fear the woman who brought him to be – this is
the origin of all false trusts that act as nutrients
to our hungry souls

the spiral rounds the corner once again agreeing that
there is no separation, there is no sanity
merely illusions projected by various levels of
conscious Ego

Editor’s note -  written January 10, 2002