Composting Stars
only when they perish & sprout holes to grow
will the garden stuff (in death they’re souls) bury roots
in a ruin where immortality is soil
only when they perish & sprout holes to grow
will the garden stuff (in death they’re souls) bury roots
in a ruin where immortality is soil
look for not light but an ant to perfect the sun for ovules in the wind & a womb
in the earth to perfect its time or immortality what a flower & fly perfect always darkness what the fully accomplished their wild ruin require never a perfection what from the promiscuous emptiness love perfects & a star is born to worship
Birth is the after-life of immortality & its conception the contamination
of the everlasting that wrecks & wastes like plant & animal into vivid emptiness
---flushed from voids that swell with stars whose light is larval & alive.
I tell you this because the ignorant egg that shines at the end of an ovipositor
is the sun we see day & night.