- cifra
At last it started in the middle
Beginning as it all begins,
It forsook the source of things.
And that which flowed over
That which stayed,
And made the choice to form a standing wave.
It leaned out against the in,
Unfolding in a place call its own
And it gently draped six senses over
This house of cards that it built,
And opened ground the roots of touch
And let them in.
Incredible sensations
It was the insatiable feeling
Of a feeling of insatiable desire.
And all that it could do was hold tight
To that that it was not.
It told itself it needed names
And in so doing it became.
This is the birth
That everyone is always talking about.
The one assumed but not remembered.
But death does not forget.
The end will remind it to cure it of itself.
