humans are so fascinating, lovely little coconut worms resting in the warmth of that long, long tree, it touches the sky and its touch is oily like dreams of hope and kiss. but I'm just the dirt, not a coconut worm, my body cannot handle the burning exposure of the tender skin to the sunlight no more, no more. delusional stones stoning the yet lacerated ones. I'm the dirt and dirt corrupts, I'm where life discomposes and the decapitated flowers germinate within sulfur and anger tingling the roots of these silky, oily trees. hell meets the sky also. for I am dirt, rage is not reachable.
