And I was formed to eat life raw;
my eyeballs exposed to the wind
and my organs separated from the
gnashing teeth and claws by no more
flesh than a forlorn, fledgling lamb.
No tin, no steel to fortify and
not even a neutral length of atmosphere.
No, no. My water sits flush
with its viscera and viscera flush
with fibrous muscle;
as if held by a levy and
waiting for its moment.
The ventricles beat mere inches
from a blood-thirsty, barren earth and
its whizzing of assorted metals.
It beats its chest in the eye
of death. My heart is
exigent within the Stygian wild.
Arriving naked in the limelight
yet lonesome in the twilight.
The elements bare down from inception.
My frail fingers touch where
lightning has; bark splintered
at my feet.
This round rock bears my weight as
it did the frontiersman and
tribesmen before them.
Our spirits sit heavy
in a silent forest together;
the same weighty presence of a spectre.
And with the simple shift of a fallen limb,
the world has changed
subtly but assuredly.
I loaf, I idle, I lean
and I watch. Not so in sloth
but rather waiting for
an expansion of being
and world to inspire
and beckon witness.
And in the end,
my story is heaped on the hills
and in the hollows.
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