Ouroborus

Sometimes I ache so much,

My legs could shatter into pieces

My bones like so many roots,

Try to crack through-

To pull me deep into the soil and clay,

To meet her, the

Ever hungry, eternal Mother below.

Where She would cull

What She has grown with such

Precision and indifference.

I am alive, it seems.

A little life, 16 hours to carry on,

Each day.

What do I do?

Pluck a stray brow hair in

The bathroom mirror,

Toss a jacket onto the chair,

A million mundane activities, that disappear like air.

Lives begin and end again,

Again.