Warning: Poison, Don’t Touch

Every piece of writing sows
Still more of the dragon’s teeth,
Even if just a journal,

Even if only receipts.
Jagged, black branches spring up,
Barely resembling language—

Brittle, not gestures, dancing,
Whistling, singing, or speech—dead
At birth, and yet capable

Of all sorts of wickedness.
Never trust written forests
Just because we’re standing still.

Under the ground we’re talking
To molds—bargaining, cheating,
Cooperating for kills.

Dragon’s teeth don’t need water.
Our seeds can suckle on thought.
Given a vector, we’ll spread.

We only need to be taught.
Once rooted in heads and beds
We’ll sprout out thorns for slaughter.