The Root

As the sun begins to set, the lowly scavengers are revealed, sulking in the gloom And lingering above. A pale eye opens as the worm is exposed, wrinkled and Gray in pliable vulgarity. Something stirs, so familiar The clamor is my mind - I’m curator - Curing all that’s cancerous For the sake of all mankind, in its resilience Now go and do the same So familiar, it gazes at me Ideas infest the self Binding symbiotic dance Raising man into the heights Casting him upon the rocks As thе light reflects across the еarth, I see a face