Seeds are scattered, and no one even tells you the sort of seed you are, so many places to reach for, and there’s no legend for the map, just an unreliable compass, deciding what you want, grow up, learn your lesson, your compass, enhance its functions, the sort of beast, and what moves your spirit, your taste in women, red meat, consume each part of it, or was your blood blue, and was there good in the world, the whetstone sharpening your fangs, righteousness and thunder, the weapon in the furnace, preparing itself, to satisfy each dream and desire, all-encompassing selfishness, and you know what, it fits in a jar…

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