I am not the chrysalis.
There is no change in me.
Just a drawing into man made cocoon,
scratchy wool surface covering what I’d like to disappear.
There is no evolution,
no desire to stay the same.
Erosion might chip pieces here and there,
sediment might gather in forgotten crevasses.
I am less, and more
with no thought to how it seems.
I will let life have its way with me,
a bit of neutral hue, a touch of pink
the black gangrene of perpetual non movement,
The inability to run or stay.
It’s so much easier this way;
to simply sit, drenching wet, wind blown dry,
or merely drift with the tide.
Here in stasis where the world waits to breathe,
let momentum carry me, I will not stop or go;
Nothing is the way to be,
No right or wrong….