A head banged white of wall,
A horn sprouted on aliveness,
Forgetfulness about an origin
Where it all began in woman.

As a finger traces life in body
From a wall of dark in a body,
Its darkness merges in white,
Now beyond all white of wall.



As our understanding vanishes we stare,

In eyes of nothing, at the nothing of wall.

We will then teeter on the edge of thought.

Our words will then sound as soft poetry

Like a breeze from our understanding tree

Meaningless but high art in its bleakness.

Their syllables will drop softly in your minds

Like the midnight breeze in the pipal tree.

You shall then hear us entirely by our lips

And make poetry words directly from them.