Existence

What is the motive for grey matter in phosphate,

it’s for status, and paper, and service, and hope

The thirst for health in my own head, and warmth

doesn’t make it easier to understand what i am told

This blemish poisoning the bark, from the crux

makes it harder to breathe out from the trunk

Branches intended to reach the sky, kiss the grass

my conscious and time and the earth spin the same fast