East Of The Wall - The Fractal Canopy

Every word upon its course. Every page a final verse. Each dissolving in their pace. Lifted parts erode the same. None were captured, none obtained. With defeat, all walked away, home.

It seems so close. That's more to do with what you own. If land is where we live, then where we land is home on impact. To grab a claim and rush to ground: it's dreamt up by the air, and those in the cloud.

Parsed beneath the foliage. Torn apart and broken down. Sucked into the xylem's stream. Hidden from the air. None shall be shared or bartered.

Lie your form upon the drift, pillowed on the bulging heap. Burdened by anthologies, she bursts towards the winds. Can't help but share. All is fleeting.

Fleeting, the feel of crashing through. What gives? Terra, that's what. The ground swelling down, convex. Falling, I guess it tumbles through, from sight. Ancient. I guess that work all went someplace. But what did we build for?

Cornered, you felt a doorway. Panicked and restless, you thought you'd die alone. Trapped by inertia, you sensed the landslide. But now that the sand shifts you felt a gentle pull, the roots tugging.

Struggle and pull. Becoming the compost heap wasn't your goal. What do they say? 'To stand in the presence of gods is worth all?” You got your wish–entombed with all the others. In time we'll all of us be equally blotted out. For once, all inclusive.

Tear the box away. Save the wrappings, all. Stare into the shape. Panic at the maw, with all light gone, rushing in, and all weight void. So now what use has gravity?