My head swarms with warm layers of insulation
decomposing leaves, dead prairie grass,
and snow den me into introspection
In the dark I begin dissecting
and become certain that
the only things that really matter
are passion and destruction by way of creation,
I know because I can't grasp
the planes of separation
The clouds seem connected
to head lights and antennae
and our edges seem rigid
protecting the muscle and tendon
When the purest of truths
is really a feeling of presense
Experiencing moments
with no judgement upon them
No prejudice or restriction
No barriers or convictions
I open my flesh towards Orion
and dissipate
through dirt and past branches
I turn into mana
My borders don't matter
just this feeling of passion
and love
and creation;
by way of destruction.
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