Poem 6

We are taught to know through models efficiently locked in as a system, a supply chain fawning at the final steps of a purchase.

The more we try to cull closer, grappling back to obscure moments and rough objects mounted in relation, the less we desire the dead, death, necrosis.

Our attachments line up in collusion, mine is pilfering the hole left by the wilted rhizome you called become. Don’t feel, just know it is a language all together dissolving into looking.