Cosmic sparked propensity, your flux soars,
creates chaos from order, ordered by
Chaos; “Whelping Clause” breeds need; brittle whore,
Mother of Mutants – explain to me why…

So cold is your breast, unsuckled in dread,
Your stern imagination has no shame,
Dubious are fuels of mind formed with red
Aspirations, and cognizance. Does blame

Flee with your breath at my death? Unseen gene
destroyed a brother, fetal in life’s health.
You flew high, mutant, so your final scene
Of mutating green shivers with its stealth.

Call me by my name, Mother; mutant, sired
By Chaos’s greed -- My father; I am tired.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Photo by Erin Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/8/04