What is the motive for grey matter in phosphate,
it’s for status, and paper, and service, and hope
The thirst for health in my own head, and warmth
doesn’t make it easier to understand what i am told
This blemish poisoning the bark, from the crux
makes it harder to breathe out from the trunk
Branches intended to reach the sky, kiss the grass
my conscious and time and the earth spin the same fast