Flesh is only dead sun,
The sap of space
Flowing like molasses
Heavy patterns.
Our tongues recite fire.
Blood is sprayed against the soil
Scattered droplets of stars
Nestled in the vase of our growing,
Dreams of mandala
And its spinning center of red.
Marrow was once fire,
Nestled in the hammock of galaxies,
Wove from the silk of gravity
The endless matrix
The quiet womb of the body universe.
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