in my shroud,
I am blind to Your brilliance.
Larval squirmings, procedural dues, envelop
mind and consume corpse so that all I feel is the pain
of becoming; the razor-edge ritual, this
infernal breakdown of internal structure,
this corpuscle soup I slaver and
squirm in throttles
in order to fly,
legs must be leashed. In order to soar,
wings must be hammered thin as air. Remake me.
Reset each molecule, retune each cell, that each atom
would sing the frequency of its conception, that
restoration and healing would croon cocoon.
That larval limping and caterpillar
crawl would collapse, gutted.
And the writhe, be