is a seed
and the yellow sun
has cracked it
into a furze of malt
all our little faces
the tree from which it fell
was defined by its event log
scattering fruit to the furthest
loaded with identity
fertilised by the fabric of space
the universe is our father
the event tree our mother
somewhere nearly identical
our sisters and brothers
for the purposes of this fancy they shall exist
Mother Mary
1 week ago
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