Scattered Ants By Chenoweth Wright

Taken at my word,

universe listening,

swords sheathed, appetites sated,

Our starfish days,

lazy and painted,

find catapult, find solace and sin.

Our very lives cavort themselves,

stayed and projected across planks of void,

staggering beneath covers of intellect,

insects only to the hive of universe.

Clarion, a bell of castles,

of a fever of imaginings.

Hooking into any branching tree,

we swing,

from God to God, being fathers

of our very origins.