It was a splendid ride. And if it has to end,
I want it to end when I've earned more soul than any buddaha -
after I was muted by thunder. And still bolder than the throwing stones.
Only hurt by karma cuts. And still a piece in the belief of peace.
Even in my dangers.
Sowing for a season. Watered the plants everyday,
until my eyes were dry. Lips cracking.
Snaking eyes. Hint and clue, the same.
Then out of pinned hole windows -
only one eye at a time. It was gun powder confetti.
That's where I want the oblivion,
flat on my back, under drifted rag sparks.
It'd tingle my spine, just a little.
Trees grew, roots mimic to ring.
And flesh moved like primal gears; the first conductors of "The Engagement."
It did start with a snake, with dense venom by mouthfuls.
End; with a tail swallowed. Shouldn't it go on?
I can smell it's blood-jet stink.
With a rib of Eve's, you're a thorn in the side.
Eyeing from the grass.
I wish for the same rush; slithering like a parchment scroll.