Reticence Poem by Leon Moon

I retend gimbals, envisioning I
vanish today, enough to make my mum
recreate the universe from the spaces in her pulse.

Or is it simply, and only ever really,
the varnishing of a war cry? ...
after all, If I made her appear...

Hot-potato rib, immune to seeking,
carved natural to my epitome most
find, the realisation they're not living for their own destiny.

Or is it that a grid is too simple
and bitter as perfection to be accepted as our home?
After all, If I wasn't here...