The knot was broken
from the waist,
as if we were struck
by a bolt.

Thinking must stop.
Violence was there within
the pods, to explode and
eject the seeds.

The silent rape of a
sleeping book. You cannot
tear off the pages,
limb by limb.

You will not read the
past. Would not write
the future. The present roars
through the window starting a brush fire.