I have been spiritually poisoned by the unclean, in ignorance blessed their springs. In consequence I withered and drifted down from green crown to brown humus, thinned to a fishbone pattern of cellulose threads.
I washed into a stream past stones squirming with black question marks of dragonfly larvae, slid through reeds into eddying pools where I stalled until the rains delivered me to the sea. My last proteins fed the plankton the humpback swallowed, whose song woke me, the ghost of a ghost of a leaf, to the shocking green astral body from which I speak:
You who seek thrill without sustenance, love without burden, light without heat— hollow, hollow men, Tom ‘O Bedlam slim: Your greatest feat is to pull the sheet from your own faces each workaday morning to avoid being wheeled, to the refrigerated cases, elbows locked in defeat.