bodies chanting in a fallen forest,
nymphets kneeling knitting knives into the rising dust –
A vision galvanized into singing of butterfly shadows to the murky horizon of His holy womb.
His womb – a vibrant tune massaging birth into the frail wombs of a bleeding clan.
A horn – seething sex in silent simmering swamps of sin.
love love …
A few words, for the womb of Man.