Suppose

Womb_of_the_World_by_ArcaneWolfXIII (1)

ArcaneWolfXIII@DeviantArt

 

Percussive moths stir

My heart whipping the contents

Into a hysterical froth

I do not like expectation

The futility of my tongue

Nodding against a wooden palate

To speak now might alter

Radically my approach

Better to suppose uncertainty

For what could I know

Of this blue womb

That we euphemistically

Call earth?

 

 

 

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