Some Embryonic Thoughts

Some embryonic thoughts crouch
overgrown and hirsute, bundled in a fragile
egg sac in the mind, befuddled, huddled
in that furry bind already shorn of hope
if not of hair that they will ever find
the unimpeded air: too wrapped already
in too many erring bands of over-qualifying

strands to ever know the frank sensation
of the soft embrace of atmosphere on more
than just a swatch of unencumbered
hand or foot or face. No wonder they look
so forlorn – watching as so many other
naked fresh assertive hunches take
their place in bunches to be born.

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