He swims like a whale,
through life,
inflated,
blubbered up from pomposity.
He is all.
He creates territory
and torture.
I am followed.
To the outskirts, I dream –
puffed up on Winter
drugs, countered
by a pulse
that refuses to let go.
All the while, He is made,
poaching my land,
harvesting my seed….
and then they say it’s HIS plan,
so HE takes it all from ME?….
The season will change again,
as seasons often do,
and I will settle firm
inside the Earth,
where He will never follow.
