Kismet


the world starts.
you start with it, jolted
by your mother's ache
and bond to something greater
than feeling
kismet.
i have seen the light
and the tunnel, and the ending
too
i have seen your flesh strung along
with the beads and the flowers,
hung as a fetus
born into a yield
with an organic flush, still.
shot as a vein, you come to the hinge
and run with the emptiness aside.

i wanted the words, they
did not want, nor ache, or wake in the morning
seeking out life-you take them or you take nothing.