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Strange Genus
by slade Friday, Jun 12 2020, 8:36am
international / poetry / post

a black rose grows on a dry human skull
its venous roots spread over and around the skull
penetrating every aspect of the surface and interior,
eye sockets, gaping mouth and every other entry
like river patterns on earth as seen from space

the skull now belongs to the rose, completely captured

there is no apparent source of nourishment
as the bone never diminishes
yet the rose survives on something, perhaps unseen
tho obviously real

perhaps the lingering imprint of previous deeds, good and bad,
sustain the rose in its blackness,
tho it appears to have a preference

the similarity of river patterns scouring across land
and the root patterns on the skull are not coincidence;
the spiralling galaxy repeats itself in flowers and sea shells --
repeated patterns offer no surprise in this micro/macrocosm

they tell a story to those that are able to read the signs
advertised everywhere by nature tho black roses
grow only on human skulls
their sprouting, growth and fruiting remain a mystery or perhaps not
to those able to read what escapes many

an erect silver serpent adorns the mantelpiece
its gaping mouth holds one black-wax candle
tho its wick has never been lit

the congruity of skull, rose, serpent and candle disturbs,
so i light the candle which motionless, burning flame releases a scent
impregnated in the wax, sometimes pleasant to the senses,
other times nauseating -- this reality is not static, it moves
like everything else according to its particular nature

so i leave u to read the images planted in ur mind,
beware they do not take root,
the innocuous words are only a medium
transporting all manner of things, seen and unseen, to the mind and emotions,
as words by nature have immediate access to the mind
tho nature writes its endless story with living moving images and patterns --
perhaps u may care to explain this sequence to me, tho i doubt it
as few are able to read the meaning of a simple repeated spiral

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