SONNET: Instinct

it's a turn-about: a ripple in time
disrupting the balance between
us & we—there's all the weight of the steeple
that holds down the little serfs, plowing the fields
and plucking grain for their brides:
from above the Duke sits and waits for crown jewels
to give to his Duchess; below the tiny ants and bugs
dance about on scurrying legs to feed the queen bees.
farther above the gods lay down their arms
to fill them with goddesses, their hooves with maidens
and their talons with sultry flesh.

across all plains—all realms, realities—
the notion is the same:
the instinct lays claim to all desire; all desires to love.

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