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