The abstract heirlooms in which our infant minds are wrapped, swathed and swaddled
are like cocoons;
perceptual wombs which may,
initially,
protect, prepare, and secure us,
but may,
eventually,
contain,
then condition,
then regulate,
then restrain,
then constrain,
then restrict,
then constrict,
then strangulate,
then finally entomb
the revelation of possibility.
Unable to fulfil their metamorphosis the cocoons corrupt.
Fledgeling minds wither within eggshell tombs.
Their aborted blooms,
well preserved,
are quickly conveyed to serve
in the catacombs
of swarming Dead Cities.