by: W. A. Marshall

as the acorn holds
a matchless scheme
for an unspoiled oak
my soul has a unique
plan for me -
from a silent space  
my being thrived
inversely the seed
was not voguish
it yearned for nothing
but sunlit sap and water
no conditioning or
distressed peers
absorbing fermented
tonics to burn wizards
it merely wanted
to be -
we appear scrambled
and blind to our
internal essence
about what we are
so we refuse
to stay inert
like a bomb
worried records
tell me so -
genomic bands that
once swirled in darkness
where essence surfaced
in search of poise
down in there
I closed my eyes  
and Aquinas’ played
amid authority to act  
in smoky darkness -  
It is I that shines a light  
so my soul can sit
calmly beside me.

call it, cell division restrictions
with heavy implications
on age limit correlations
　
old and decrepit
one day your fingers will become brittle sticks
wrapped inconsistently in thin wrinkly papers

approaching uselessness

every page gets turned slower
understood less and less often
as everything begins to be forgotten

watch out now
here comes genomic instability
aka the road to an old death
or a cancerous death
or a radiation death
maybe a chemical death
or from sharp metal or heavy stone
perhaps from the claws
or teeth
of another clever beast
(an inaudible noise)
whatever's clever, it's all ******* death
when it starts...

it progresses (pray for quickness)

please dear
have a little neurodegeneration
with that
it won't matter, you'll forget
and **** your pants
eventually
　
maybe she's born with it
maybe it's recombinational DNA repair error
either way we're all on our own way into cyclic deficiencies of repair
that night shift mr. fix it staff
the stupid intern who makes the copies
gets the coffee
eventually, the manager hires his nephew
and outsources the night shift to mental patients
things then start to unravel
as all things fall apart
　
sometimes it's exogeny
other times from within
endogenous like  
anyway,  it's all "whatever"
("it's not a tuma!")
these things that are eventual, tend to be tragic
universally so
the upper limit to individual "forever's"
this could be law
when that which you cannot see stops doing what you cannot believe
you tend to die
and everything has it's time to die
everyone of us becomes due in time
to become one spectacle of a tragedy
or another
like you've never seen before
like you would never believe

until it happens to you...
when you go,
when you hear,
ha... that,
(inaudible sound)