In Temporal Transitions We Wallow.

In Temporal Transitions We Wallow.

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"In tubular and round we are 

blood filled balloons of flesh,

our belly buttons are 

the nipples tightly knotted,

our nine orifices are the valves

for gaseous release, 

with a fragile assemblage 

of bones to frame it all,

leaving us much like 

the Hindenberg...

on life's journey."

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We are squeezed

from the womb, 

in pelvic thrusts that

can dent a tiny skull.

We can be breech-ed

or strangulated

on umbilical cords, 

before we even

breathe the air of life.

We spend our entire

lives in a fragile shell, 

of porcelain or tanned flesh

vulnerable to razors, bullets, 

fists, disease, depression

and disasters.

Like sponges for all

the world's woes,

we absorb the blows, 

until the weight of it all,

drags us six feet under.

Even in death we rot,

all that we were dissolving 

into white mold, organic mush,

bone and then dust,

With no armor to protect us, 

unlike turtles, oysters

and horseshoe crabs. 

we walk the thin lines

between survival and

destruction daily.

Only our souls escape

unscathed, from the

target of our flesh,

Even now somewhere

in moments yet faced, 

our demise patiently

awaits our exits.

the chaos, on tiny cat feet, 

with only one life

out of nine to cherish, 

or flaunt death in a

dance of blissful ignorance.

In the end it will not matter,

we all are broken and

disseminated into fodder

in spite of every precaution.

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