#substrate
Were your mind the soil from which words rise,
autochthonic,
filled with meaning-ment-al
ready to write asif
you exist, dear reader, and know
autochthonic
people are some different from
Gaijins, gegenes, genetical offspring of Gaia,
I imagine, gollum mud men, goy-soulish sorts,
were, once thought,
asreal as death itself, by those in the know;
but
we never know ever, ever being as it is and
this being mortality,
the act of dying,
asif we were seeds, words whispered in darkness,
come and see. Buy of me gold,
without money,
without price.
Grace, take it for granted, and grow on.
Become that which the seed demanded you to be,
when autochthonic was re
cognized as some word Nunzio Corso knew, but you
never heard of him.
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 1:57 PM UTC