Growth

a gnarled and desultory growth,
my roots crane from
the swarming earth i loathe,
rising as cathedral arches
or a thorny crown.
i wish only to float like spore
through a void of dizzy calm
or sink into dead rock,
encased by its crushing protection.

yet i am held by the hated lifeline.
the contempt in my sleek battlements,
fibrous razor spines and venom sap,
lacks even the virtue of conviction
for i am rotting
and would gorge on this green mire