Somehow
the wrongness is taking hold once more,
thumbing its snotty nose at bright inclusion.
It hugs,
with a constrictor’s singleness of purpose.
I see the willows in the warm June breeze.
I know this is beautiful.
You have told me.
I have seen,
on the other side.
But now I look, through a glass, darkly.
I press upon the clear walls.
The seed diabolic grows again,
its stinkflower my silent sidekick.
Come to me. Come to me now.
