Renascence of Destruction

math is irrelevant to nature,
what exists, exists without
the need for stratification, without
oscillating curves or whole numbers
bridging gaps between humans and
unidentified microcosms

rebirth will live as a sun-basking
myth in ouroboros if it counts the
instances it swallows its tail

it all comes down to one fish in
stasis, wafting over bubonic shore
letting oceanic life ebb and flow around it,
the giddy platonic lover

the same shore, a home to anglers
glaring at sunny bonfires, fishing for furtive
ancestral tales, these paan-spitting
loud thinkers of “nothing comes from nothing”
these god-fearing believers of rebirth
being a soft-whispered euphemism for
renascence of destruction

if a plastic bag sways and flutters several times
against the wind: it is still no vicar of happiness,
the life inside it is only a life trapped inside;
breathless, and out of breath