Today, self-awareness pulls you out of blood, onto banks of reflective flesh.
Observed love stakes claim to cliche, and dredges a heart-shaped path - hoping you won't notice, but you do, and distractedly
fill its ditches with purple stock.
How does authenticity speak in a crowd? Must transmutation occur in solitude? Why not shape clouds in the city from the water you carry
in your mouth?
Because you don't yet know how.
You only know how to return to the wood, away
from the field where we count your seeds and align your production.
Hidden by folios, you apprentice the sun - growing mostly inedible fungi and weeds, but a few unique flowers - some that smell of blood, some that reflect the sky.
Hidden by folios, you apprentice the sun - growing mostly inedible fungi and weeds, but a few unique flowers - some that smell of blood, some that reflect the sky.
