"One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star." Frederick Nietzsche

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

 

Now, only the vestiges remain:
conduct a forensic examination,
then scatter the remains,
feel the fragility of the body,
in the furtherance of the truth,
note the devil’s-in-the-detail,
condemned at the root.

A roof for his daughter,
over a precipice-by-the-way,
peculiar ways of thinking
alive, still,  today.

Russians worship icons,
in China there is smog,
Tom-All-Alone’s deliverance:
was a false prologue.

Remains of thought and feeling,
embedded in the brain;
flower into vestiges, nothing will remain.

Shape-shifter-deliverance:
all that is, is not,
numbed into meaning:
sansculotte.

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