Rebirthing
by Stephan Pacheco
What held me could not know me,
it can't identify. But it functions.
I'm dead for sure, I do know that.
I can't mind. Safe inside an invisible womb,
that keeps me while calmly devoid of all
suffering or chance of it. What I want is coming.
Waiting for a ride, to feel again,
an ancient, familiar pain,
stamped: Existence.
Without eyes or flesh
I feel and see.
In darkness. Beyond distance.
Past an edge. Where nothing is always waiting.
Lit in the glow of cosmic gases,
I'm present while a solar system forms.
Every one, a legion of Lovers, endlessly True,
always just about to be here again.
In a flash from completely nowhere
I scream, I cry, I want,
in a series of oozing climaxes I secrete,
attract, and grow on me, and feel, and orgasm,
beside fountains, and rivers, amongst laughter,
and cries, and moans, and wants, and final satisfactions.
Something inside of me always delighted
to hang on tight, then let go again.
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