as i see fit, from real objects that have names, whether sun, cloud or rain, whether tree, grass or root... to decipher with numbers, and then with the deciphers, cipher with letters.

you tread too lightly, poet & poetess -
even with a painter or sculptor
by your side,
  you tread too lightly,
           your words drop like sand
grains into a shallow grave of
  a spring rain's puddle...
                   they are not like
mountains or meteors falling
into oceans -
             i scratch the surface
and see no muscle beneath the skin,
i scratch straight to the bone -
     and that's as good as minding
a toothpick for a tree;
   of what i offer, are you sure to
gain from it, anything but a mirror
of your deeds?
               that shallow, however lucky
spending spree? and as concerning
       one's selfless deed
                 to enrich, which by
  the alchemical stone transforms
    the gift, into a burden,
            transforms the whole affair
   into a  "concern" for ingratidue,
              indeed -
                      let it go naked,
             men may see 't the better*...
one can be grateful for others' ingratitude
by the end of the telling
                                    spree told,
no examples are worth to be given
to count a name upon a name -
   easier to memorise the good stuff -
the welcome perfume of what
was once raw, that became baptised
in fire, or in the bubbling skin
poaching styx -
                             indeed,
if upon birth, man is baptised by
water, upon death, longing for
the baptismal fire...
                yet of those who baptise
the dead with wood and earth -
            see nothing but a degrading
elemental wake -
                       for one can bury
a loved familial - then sit upon the moon
and count a star seize -
   to then grind ones teeth
   and break off a part of one's tooth,
and with that, head to the burial
ground, and place the splinter of ivory
where others threw flowers into the soil;
rise, oh long awaited tusk -
                         what is not more
spectacular, than the theatre of death?