The scream released

in the vision of a spirit quest

will wake the dead

to a new reality,

by way of broken paradigms

and the unlocking of Pandora’s

universal truths.


To walk alone on untrod paths

outside the tribe,

carries inherent difficulty.

There is potential infection

by beasts harmful and fended,

eaten and absorbed for the good.


My creed

is spun by obstinance.

The storm in my head

brings ideas to melt and meld

by a constrained nothingness.


All experience into the soup.


In the amniotic fluid

pieces find and parts connect,

until the child is ready.

Birth is intense

sometimes feverish.

Others are slow,


and rarely I must cesarean

this thing out of me.


The offence is unintentional,

though harsh in its reality.

Everything taken from my life

friends, family and fantasy,

this driven will-to-birth

will continue.

From the darkness to light

I, flesh, illusion.



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