Chiho Aoshima
My lips drop, a penny for the displacement of hope
Tell me only that which I, in stupefaction seek
Sanity is too fluid to enslave or replicate
There are no grownups only pilfered nests
And feral eggs that feast upon extraneous instinct
When I die I shall embed a stone crown
That my suchness may remain entitled to occupancy
To be infinite is itself a transient state
And yet entire lives are spent sorting labels
mindlovemisery 