In every delusion is sown
a bit of truth, yes,
a weed that explodes
cell by cell into a tree
full of inedible fruit, yes,
as the days become misshapen, more dark bulge
than light stream, yes,
as we are deafened by long haunted voices
of those brought to ground by others impressed
by different delusions, yes,
this is the nature of the new world,
the nature of bastard settler dreaming, yes,
blown out through veins of cold blood,
nuggets of truth run through a fuzz pedal,
a song drawn from disturbance operas, yes,
this is how we learn,
this is how we begin a new education, yes,
if we are to be grown whole from the land,
if we are to be open as we grow toward the sun,
new shoots shooting up and up and here we are, yes,
everything we are grown from has rotted into food
and everything we need is rising from our shame, yes.
Dark Matter 