Lucy, you’re all white
bone-dry hands
but ya face ain’t calm—

Said you were almost complete
dancin on your two feet
but that rouge never lasts till dawn.

Girl you’ve walked the night
long as we can remember
whole worlds seen your hips sway—

Ever wish your secrets had stayed buried?
Baby, s'too late to worry
you’ve been embalmed in fame.

I used to say I’d be nothing like him
A mama’s girl, fierce and fearless
But there is fear.
I am afraid of what I feel
Of the anger that swells
Of my inability to stop the tide
Of the time my mother and I fought
And she whispered
you’re just like your father
I am afraid of evolution.
A slow process
That can change a harmless thing
Into something else entirely
I don’t want to be that something
But in my head a voice tells me
You can’t deny your roots
And by roots I mean a grave
That dug itself into the earth when I was born
And waits for me still
When will I become your sickness
An emotional  minefield where no one walks
A sadness that makes my feet drag
I refuse to become the person I fear
Because although evolution cannot be stopped
I am the mutation.
And I will not become the man who brought me here.

As Earth spun to unfold a kind
creating sounds it calls upon
to express a thought a feeling
a sensation it barely comprehends,

life at the remnants of the core
of what once was a unique land
named Pangea evolved,
to get acquainted with a notion

that would reign thereon.

It all happened in an area
of encounters where gothic Liufs
held dear by German Lieb
saw Lief the Dutch and Liaf the Frisian

fall for Liof the Saxon catching Lob
praising Liebe rejoicing in the arms
of Liubi. Until came Lufu the English
who desired and felt romantic

****** attraction it believed worthy
of a noun all to itself, and that is when
Luve came into the scene to be greater
than anything else, a word

no one would ever forget.
While behind the curtains
Albanian Lyp begged needing Lips
demanding for more.

We broke.
She ascended, I descended.
She found her way back to God
I found my way back into The Soup.

Enchantingly nonchalantly unfurling before
blind eyes merely able to gape in awe
ephemeral smithereens of expanding plenum,
the abyssal pervasive womb encompassing all

that exists, was is and will be, nurturing
emptiness with energy for nothingness not
to be. Swirling particles coalescing to breed
unfathomable incandescent spheres

radiating blistering lights in waves, hurtling
everywhither as beacons celebrating glory
of omnific productions till mirific explosions
scatter pieces crisping to bond, under laws

of attraction relentlessly spinning, rotating
an elliptic orbit at a distance, showered in eons
by debris enclosing drops of lymph, finely
elegantly tuned through evanescent time, to allow

the esoteric birthing of rare creatures gazing,
curious and inquisitively reflecting, recognising
mother does not contemplate repetition nor
perfection, as she haphazardly reveals inestimable

varieties, offspring of sweeping sublime
creativity with which she munificently shares
a comprehensive consciousness inspired,
suggesting the child indeed could grasp

the extent of infinity
despite blind eyes.

There is a peculiar little creature hiding,
on a remote terrestrial planet for the most,
concealed in water in the maze, of a galaxy
far away, orbited by Luna and orbiting Sun.

A dynamic part of space I visited long ago,
where stars form continuously and voids are filled,
with particles giving rise to the right conditions,
for this young naïve creature to exist and evolve.

Unable to see the totality of its body it now believes,
pieces are each an individual, arrogant and incomplete,
searching to fill the voids with substance it does not have,
and may I add forfeited, by megalomania and fear.

Heretic delirium of a species reluctant to face itself.

Trust me when I say I tried, to communicate its nature,
pointing out the pieces, were all part of One.
From my perspective it was clear. I attempted to convince it,
make it ponder on its uniqueness, its uselessness

in division, its completeness in Unity, to show it
its magnificence, its rarity in a Universe immense,
recounting voyages through skies above its head. It did not
believe me, pieces thought I was mocking them.

Renegading from essence, pieces claimed my words,
were ridiculous, offensive, and proceeded making up,
godly interpretations spreading voices they never heard,
to cover mine. Irrationally terrified, of me

and an apocalyptic wrath. I know the pieces knew I spoke
the truth, as all along they felt alone, part of something
greater they refused, to admit they did not comprehend,
thus choosing to contradict, anything that would,

diminish single egos, to the detriment of the oneness
of a body dying, in non-acknowledgement.

The creature has a name and the name is Humanity,
now reduced to shards of consciousness scattered,
throughout a tired globe waiting to recover,
from this sickness called Persona, with a medicine

labelled Evolution.