there is a piece of a black trash bag
clinging to the branch of the bush
amongst the plethora of foliage
which hides me, so I may sleep undisturbed
from the cops shining their lights
informing me the railroad is private

I find so much inspiration
in this piece of a black trash bag
as it still clings to that branch
as I awoke this morning
effortlessly it resists the winds
and invites insects to inhabit its space

I find so much art
in this piece of a black trash bag
as it inspires me to create a thing
from what initially seemed as nothing
this black, reflective piece of a trash bag
brought to me by the winds of Chaos

I find so much spirit
in this piece of a black trash bag
The Ouroboros, The Yin and The Yang
the destruction of a star and the creation
of a black hole, of which feeds the other side
as another star dies, on the other side as well

so is the end
and so is the beginning

Mothers and Fathers in us all

Fire, we are breathing