that the shell is the protection
for the soft squishy heart inside the mechanism
that is the construct
and the reason for the creation
that the creation created
and why it is here, left behind as a memory of what it designed
from its mind
the slug imagines a shell and the shell is the reason why it is
belonging to a snail that is no longer a slug
so the fear that creates the shell is also responsible
like the caterpillar that imagines wings to fly
pauses to reflect and evolve
so the constructs we create we are
and we imagine all that we can become
as it becomes our purpose we
be
enslaved to the purpose of servitude
for the shell that is the master
and the slave that carries it
gives up to the testimony
and the reality is
that we create from what we are
and we are attached only by our need to belong
to our attachments
so our purpose is greater than our shells
our purpose is greater than any we have known before
until we can spread wings and fly
we must evolve and destroy
every limitation
we find ourselves
limited to
i wonder what people make of my work
i wonder if they think that it makes me proud
rich in my pleasure for myself
as if i can feel love
given to myself
its like masturbating for loves sake
i dont feel love
unless i know
i am part of a profound circle of life
and i know that i am welcome
with a purpose that is reality
larger than a chess match
and more like a lovers dance
a lover that spins out of my arms
and is as free as a bird
to love me
incessantly
just love
gushing between the reasons
that i had to fight to stay
ahead
of that killer angel that holds me down
pinned inside an end game
that never takes my king
never frees me to leave the game
take it
take it all
that heart thats shattered
was just mine thats battered
fried and splattered
against the floor
that was too heavy for gravity
to resist my resistance
and i failed my own cause
because
i would not
submit