Eunucized Mind

I admit, I want to
spread my seed,
sow my virile
oats. To leave a mark,
a point of
remembrance for
my name. But, no,
not now, not when
marks mark the
lands with the
works of hands
led by minds
corrupt. My name
is enough, my thoughts
and my touch
are of love and
possess only themselves,
them being held
by the fingernail
that scraped the
humus and humanized
the dirt, moved by
the breathing wind.
Enough, this is.
Enough and no need
to leave marks.
The humus already
stands to be consumed.