Abdicate. Grow backwards.
Let the flowers retract into their buds, the buds into the stalk and the stalk into the hemispheres of the seed.
Let the circle be unbroken: form a feedback loop until the brain roars with howlround in its cage.
Focus. Prune every Y until there’s nothing but a pollarded knot of pure intention.
Trade nuance for the on or off of a machine.
Don’t give anything away.
Without a hoard, there can be no power. Let your waters build and build behind this new dam.
Zero in like the ouroboros.
Curl. Coil. Clutch. Constrict. Consume.
Note: this is not a revision but an extended commentary on my poem, “Fist.”