Pine

As the pendulum swings out of line
One last lung gasp, last sun-blast rhyme
Motion is defined as the change in position of an
Object in a given interval of time
Scent of wet pine cones
When I severed my umbilical cord with no
Shred of remorse and no physical force
A metaphysical warlord that wields an analytical fine comb
Weave through time zones
On a good day just might leave your mind blown
Most days only want to kick it at the crib shacked up with the rouge
Tryna ride out the cyclone
Instinct says build a nest
Fill with eggs, which on the surface of it will suggest
The sole purpose by extrapolated logic is to
Bill collect, bank a million net
Dont mini me if I kill the set
Unsubtly convey that I’m still the best
The skill possessed etcetera fill the rest in
Suggestion: perhaps reassess the question
Butterfly, here for one glorious summer then
His wings disintegrate in the soft light
Lost my sanctuary, re-found it on the hillside
Paper’s ash-black, paint’s off-white