Every act of creation
is an erasure
an abrasion
an anaphylactic
shock and awe
hack job
a pleasure
wrought of leisure
and an irrepressible
need to blather on
both with and without
words.

Every devastation is
an act of creation
is an act
of transfusion
and a letting of blood
rich jewel confusion
a measure
of destruction
in the symphony
of what is becoming
a disillusion
of what is not
a twat shot full of love
a love of splatter
a shortage
and abundance
of what we call sanctity
and insanity
in and out
of fertile matter.

Every creation is
an act of destruction
and reproduction
a deconstruction
of yesterday
but a recreation
of tomorrow
an ablation
sullied only by illusion
a transmission
in search of substantiation
contracted
into transubstantiation
expanding like
an outstanding ovation
both with and without
reason
a scene
both with and without
cohesion
both in and out
of season
both over
and under heard.

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