Slither

Isolating wounds from the vultures.
You are peculiar,
And your timeless cosmogony was the reason I shifted my sight from the barren moon to the intolerable sun.

You could destroy this torn ulna ten million times,
And the wounds would be my lifetime mark.
The atmosphere, my sign.

Time is still an inconsiderable myth from the early borns.
Its static nature has brought wrath to the empires of the seas.

We are indifferent,
We dwell on phosphenes, and the moon beams.
In the absence of light, and in the coldness of fright.

"I am the ancestor of the future. I am the future of the ancestor."