My ideas flow from my mind.
Worms that consume me at all hours of the day and night
Caterpillars transform into butterflies and fly away.
While others devour my sleep. The ground is the dirt under my nails, damp, moist, and aromatic.
Is it the moonless velvety darkness?
Tenderness is a cluster of young leaves in the rain, or is it an arrow of sunlight kissing the morning?
I eat while digging with both hands.
Breathing, breathing, breathing.
Flowers will blossom, as will weeds.
Peacock tails will unfurl somewhere, water lilies will blossom in murky muck, and dewdrops will shake stealthily like love letters.
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