Twelve Fold Chain
The Books
At last it started in the middle
Beginning as it all begins
It forsook the source of things
And that which flowed over
That which stayed
And made the choice to form a standing wave
Leaning out against the in
Unfolding in a place to call its own
And it gently draped six senses over
This house of cards that it built
And opened ground to the roots of touch
And let them in
Incredible sensations
It was the insatiable feeling
Of a feeling of insatiable desire
And all that it could do was hold tight
To that that it was not
It told itself it needed names
And in so doing it became
This is the birth
That everyone is always talking about
The one assumed but not remembered
But death does not forget
The end will remind it to cure it of itself