long hair

Criss, cross, criss crossing my past with my fingers, crossing paths like its mating season and we are birds, a winged knot, crashing down, this is a collision of necessity. Unresolved we might never know true purpose. [for some reason I envisioned a moment of sex between my past and present self, just that idea of passion and intercourse to unify something inside] 

Fingers linger on the lines around its body, the past, the animal I killed in the backyard when I was playing fairy and needed a sacrifice to reach a higher self, my brother(s) brewing a soup that reeked of all things nature and also of shit. human. A certain paranoia overcomes me when I'm in nature and smell that smell, it is a sensual wake-up call.

You cannot clean yourself of the past, it might be dusty, brush it off and what's underneath is the truth of all you are now, the evidence for all you offer yourself. 

Now I'm there, higher, yet hands in that yard back in the dried dirt trying to find the corpse of an invented animal and its attached estranged essence, childhood memories. 

cut, cut my hair and then I grow it all back,

I'm back at my cliff, still throwing things off.

I look like my mother. 

There is nothing but same DNA corresponding, letters without addresses. Enveloped in the amniotic sac and a direct connection through the umbilical cord. A communication set before my first words and my first screams. When they penetrated the skin to pull me out, it was all violent and fast, I assume, scissors ready to make it permanent. 

It was like a prophecy for us to be separated forever. 

past and present.

and now I have to deal.