Swaddled deep within the skein of living
wound by red claw, woven through.
Forceful keep, cocooned in deep breathing
I, in my manger, spinning a tale of you.
I, in my manger, troubled sleep endure.
out of a pocket, the Earth spins like a toy.
out of a pocket, throws a coin to a cure, but
interminable life forces can’t be deployed
Interminable life is the Beat and the Om,
shared by the lungs of both villains and trees;
shared by the lungs through chain smoke or psalm.
I, in my manger, will carry your disease
I, in my manger, asleep in my throne,
breathing you deeply, exhaling the bones.