Work Text:
CYLON eyes! The boundless thrum of life red
does spin of side-and-side, in true you dart
from clause to cause objecting our purebred
notion, for spirit measur’d in flesh heart
would ever set against you taking part
and lower soul to beast. What then do you
suppose of our prophesied ancient art
which comes and go and comes ‘round again to
say we and I and you are pattern’d new
--form, purpose, eternal reoccurrence--
tumble vain unknown and unknowing through
cycles borne; God of Our Own Transference?
Such vanity of soul-self sparks ignite
such doubt carried twined ever to incite.