His head expelled rancid muck
onto the river bank moss
while I stood there peeking
behind buildings wondering
if the sun has risen.
I’m cursing the wind yet again
but this time its coupled
with sheer rocks that work
to extract blood from my
yellow calluses.
Downstream the fluids combine.
The ripples oxygenate them and
work them like arthropods
billowing towards their first meaning.
With him still face down
I wallow over his body.
Picture his last twitch.
Ponder neurons and
relations to souls.
We’ve only developed thus
far and I want to be
sure this relies solely
on an impacted min
instead of mystical authority.
I don’t want to be invaded.