Let me go first in the cave to see the hollow-eyed, bird-face, my ancestor, relic of reclusive committment, eaten by hierarchical grass, inch by inch.
Calories burn to free the bones from the green pond, beached, skinned and fished alive for a weird ritual offering rice, flowers, tamarind and wheat. Bald, hungry eyes were looking at approvingly.
I was searching unself papyrus, to print the tale of agonising travel of a small colossus, from night to night to track a dragging sun in mud and water.
O, groaning seed, you are the paradox. Neither tree, nor root, only a promise to destroy the fear. I will wait till the next sun-eclipse, when you turn outside into inside!
