in this molten hollow, crusted with land
overdue says the axis, manic spinning
round and about the magic gravity bond
there was barely a doubt in the eyes of the abyss
it gazes back when the word is said
quick, quick, the moment seeping quick
brushing—in bristles soft—our mystic time
each moment passing by, the fabric
layer stretching out into a platter: shine
presented on the altar of conscience
now doubled in scented-luminosity
tripled with its first-hand value
served under the cover of a smile
it is an old joke, placed more upright
to stick like bed flattened anew
but the world stances still
sank into the idea like human nutrients
one in every town, two per island
it is not so bad, it cannot be contained
the feeling is great, moment – surreal
’tis a miracle to track a counting
’tis a human thing to be immersed
’tis an undying element for breathing
to be human is to be *dying* curious
the prophecy must be met
destiny shall land as obeyed
and soon, it is known to be fate
genetically written for partial overcoming
transcend as the white oblivion
one wrong step and suddenly
nightmare will tail and shadow
and suddenly it *kills* to know
lethal to understand and think
what have we done? we are alive
everything comes in fluid motion
warping over our bones, dignified
we’ve nothing else to crunch for
only faith that fate is momentary
a glimpse too short to capture
and the sureness remains frolic
perhaps, we are made to be
something more, a relic of a crime
wanting to be deciphered as a legacy
a sequence in the human cycle
where the lowest hast escaped
relocating the grand predestination
making what it was to what to be.