(no subject)
my soul has withered in a spiral, a burning and intoxicated branch within the vase chamber of my body. but it has left seeds. they ricochet through long black caverns, precipices of glorious stained glass windows, serpentine, worm-like. they are thrown through this vast and unknown space. it is a tundra, a desert, yet sometimes an alien jungle, barren but confusing, fallow but many times fertile. the seeds are wandering aimlessly, without purpose. my body is the landscape. in its numberless corners sigilled rocks, filled with the red fluids of the earth, will be found. the seeds will fall into them, after great searching, not unlike destiny. separate languages will form. botanical rainbows, upwellings of colored alchemical fluids, the dyes of the seasons will drip from clouds of talismanic majesty. the borderlands will be soaked in their entirety, the brushfires which arose of nihil to bring light in the absence of organic clairvoyance will be quenched. their orange eyes answered with the violet writing dripping from the flowers of the moon. a new furious growth will take hold, its density will fill the boundaries, it will form a network, a frame, a skin. my soul will be reborn from this body seeded with light. no longer vinous, growing thinly along the sidewalk in the daylight and crumbling again at night. this will be a strong aged tree of wisdom, its trunk at its center a sphere like the earth, with its gravity. an inward eye which refracts oneness. it will be, and I will be. a warm soul of light born of the fruits of the body.
