Tectonic Self

I am Tectonic Shift, I drift from Honest

Lies to say I’m lawless, the great is vaunted

You and me lives dually, as if like sonnets

I am a relayed shift, I wish to create

Strive against to relate, time tears like a grate

Grow and scold self, no man’s old who’s always remade

Cut cords cannot afford, lost youth to be gained

I am phonetic rifts, I list dialects

All tongues have intellect, some one can’t dissect

Understanding Sunders man, causing disconnect

Mind’s words I can’t discern, Need I introspect

Scenes differ with respect, borders breed neglect

I am hypnotic wit, a writ of logic

The price you pay for knowledge, for this—what tonic?

Auditing the Holocene, things ends are chronic

Yet flow do things not slow, but supersonic

Faster than a comet, expunged like vomit,

Infinitesimally changing commonly

I stand to interpret the set of winter

What’s close and what’s hinter, the print and printer

Truthfully I’m you and me, being is splintered

Bereft of right or left, coins with no minter?

Expand out to whither, is there a center?

Patterns make for latter takes, painting every shape

A kiln with no kindler, I’m my biggest killer

I am a live culture, wet earthen sculpture

Change reaps rot like vultures, making us sculptors

Mutation is new faces, decay that skulker

The known that’s our embryo, yoked to be wrote of

The same marble shoulders, with different owners

Addicted to our sickness, our own genesis

The future is told of itself by the older

Wear a coat of arms, yearn for a coder

I am a measurement, amending events

Augment without relent, from patterns—invent

A well worth world of bell curves serve to comprehend

A stone set man can’t grow, though things all are penned

A façade I present, Life lives to append

Probable is possible, wave or particle?

Words made by intent, but meaning depends

I live a fantasy I read and believe

Unweave a web to see, waking life’s a dream

Memories from everything that’s sensory

A game do we all play, names too are conceived

In genre we perceive, all type with a key

Instructed by constructed lands of abundance

I am inner conflict, I knit my bondage

My mind is a convict, a pen composite

Reference frames inference, never full goblets

A ward awarded toward times of yore for

My lore I did pocket—a walking locket

I is a friend often walking or talking

But he can be rotten, all days have coffins

Guiding star or lie gone far, poison or pollen

At rest an old friend left, so I may blossom

I’m not autocracy, god embodying

Patterns aren’t prophecy, mutate constantly

Alleles fray like Ideals stray, I is hypocrisy