I wrote sort of a poetry world building engine.
I messed up my neck or I messed up my head. I stood in wu ji to become the open vessel.
Outside my window I saw a rock. A sturdy rock. How lucky was I to see this beautiful rock! I am this rock… smooth and sturdy and solid and so old.
As it turns out I was contorted
My body settled into its unconscious posture
my line of sight changed
and NOW I see a branch
it twists with a white belly
it sprouts asymmetrical protrusions
A big twig really
I want my rock!