It’s born.
The horse hair scrapes across the strings.
The world is born.
Out of the lava a rush of butterflies.
A world is changed.
Water falls from the sky.
Hisses down upon the rocks.
The world is old.
Hardened.
We all die again and again.
The world is born.
In the mixed streets of a cold city.
A world is born.
In hot deserts.
Burning seas.
Potato fields at dusk.
A world is born.
I am young I am old I am new I am dead.
I world dies.
A world is born.
In tiny closets full of ancient jackets.
Newness. Death. Birth.
Up on the roof,
holding your hand.
Holding your chin.
Looking up into destruction.
Colisions.
A symphony of warfare.
Battles with battles with battles within birth.
I hold your hand.
A world dies,
a world is born.
In the knocking of a door,
in the the tearing of the envelope,
in the breaking of a shoelace.
New, Birth, Death.
Forever and ever.
Birth kills death, death kills birth.
The snake eats it’s tall.
The aged give birth.
The birthed kill the dead.
On and on.
The world is born.
