Untitled

We were all untitled, 
once.

Nobody remembers 
what came before
life. A vacuous hum
and the promise of 
breaking haunted
that time before fear.

We inherited caves
and traumas — 
as the frameworks of 
language gave us lungs
and the pictured pattern
of endless run-on

sentences, every 
jostle introduced
a new layer of color into 
the spectra between 
rainbows 
and mortality.

When did we start 
living? A cell in black 
ablaze deep inside 
ambrosia, floating 
delicately like an uncons
cious yawn. I was 
conceived amidst 
an alphabet of soft 
Mozartian harmonies 
and quadrilaterals. I

started living when 
I was spoken, and lived 
on in your thumping
heartaches and the many
emptinesses of true life. 
I gave myself a body
through the meter 
and disappointed dreams
bursting 
forth from within me.

Structure and form 
sing sadly through 
colorless fluid 
and deposit meaning 
into a meaninglessness 
too nebulous for words.

But give me a name,
and watch me soar.

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