What is my diagnosis
From seed—a bundle of nerve
I’m on a quest to find it
Our lizard self steeps
If ever anyone finds a need to critic
At the root of the brain
They will unfind anything to say
Our serpent spine
To need to quest for meaning
Sits hot & dry
My diagnosis
Slipping off skin
The critic needs to know
Silent coil at sunrise
That meditative technique to see
A rod of sulphur
What is inside of me—anyone
It circulates smooth around
If ever I find anyone
Evolving for extremity
It is me
Enrolling in ecliptic eternity
The critic
Scales height & pallor
My diagnosis
A cold wet moon falling into mercury
It melts to minus color
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