This hole is perfect


This hole is perfect
because you are in It

Don’t even try to get out

This is the perfect shape of you
Crushed to atomic
Compounded to compost
To a mad misshapen thing

Beyond redemption or repair.

The seed song of the new
Begins as a lost cry that falls on a heart without ears.

Layers of bodies deep
Held urgently trembling in the smothering womb
of the
moistened dark.

About subincontinentia

writer and eternal optimist
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