Center Heart Long Poem

At peace with God, I am light-ray frequencies without a bod.

There is life down below, my pearl physical rod.

Men and women making love move me to travel about in heaven, to grow, move, and prod.

I think my soul wants something mod.

I want in a bod.

He let out a big, juicy wad.

I traveled through the Sun Star rays, a ray of light into the cells of the wad, sperm flagellating with a supersonic tail spin to burst into an egg in a bod.

The explosion is magical.

My soul will flag and go.

Mod?

She is a runway model, a sales representative.

My first love.

My womb.

My momma.

My first home, my soul left heaven to bod the womb tomb.

I died from heaven today, now physical.

I want to grow, to read books, and be quizzical.

She is reading the Bible, starting with the truth.

My mum, my virgin light in a physical tomb, from the intelligence of heaven, so physically dumb.

To heaven, to be physical is, yes, to sacrifice, to be dumb.

Yet naïve, yet not knowing, yet with a soul to know.

There is a central intelligence, light entering forth.

They take me as this growing egg to see if I am forming a leg.

Her belly growing.

Me under a slide, growing.

They took me out.

I grow so stout.

What was that left in her belly, growing so big—a healthy baby?

Yet me at the same time, a microscope and slide under the light of a scientist, and yet in the womb.

They taught me parallel reality, already marking a divine tomb.

Learning so early.

The tune of the harpsichord of woven light rays, from the Sun Star rays to womb, to a parallel cell growing under the light of a microscope on a slide.

When they grope and force-fed dope, I remembered this in Reiki past-life regression, distant healing therapy.

What do I grow to date to be?

A mission.