I'd love to talk  of great beginnings
but every hard seed  bitter countered 
by an egg  and what is not pulp  
if not brought to rot  may burn  
til all is frozen  What grand upheaval  
do you foresee-- intellect but a frame  
of river without ocean  emotion  
flawless  with calm uncertainty
 
So of what do I speak  with love-- 
names of shadows  reactive fuses
of flesh  and thought upon delusions
of saliency  What do I know to voice
but that design will end  as is 
no matter paradigm-- look at me