The Perpetual Spiral


Under the suface, my vains strech-out like the roots
of a tree, Perpetual flow. The hair up-on my flesh,
The grass in multitude and different lengths, Protector
and beautifier. The body, carries the ring of skin
as the bark does the core, wise sophisticated organic
texture. My arms and legs, reach-out into the
atmosphere as do branches, upward in praise.
When Spring comes I've blossumed and grew, renewing
suddle at first, then in bloom. Within lies the
computer in full with all it's map works: The hard-
drive as recall, the monitor my vision, the
keyboard for input. Electric Central Nervous
System, relaying information, communication,
and the switching stations help convert almost
digitally. Fiber-optic and my touch-tone to
press one on command, a decision made at
my will. Microphone ears, speaker mouth,
and my nose, well I'm not for sure but it knows
or it wouldn't be there. But each allows a
manifestation within this being enableing
the right to act as a symphany hopefully
in concord so I can free flow like
the mountain stream, and like the mountain
stream it all starts some where; then
it's an infinite cycle, like my spirit
that envelopes this prison of flesh. Finally
when death comes it will bring my parole
so that what I left behind can feed what
is to follow after me. It was fun working
my way up through the food chain. Now I can
watch someone else do it. And always remember
I had to do it so that you can, too.