False Pretences

Of the two, seed and egg, I would rather the egg.

The planting of a seed within the mind will quickly lead
To roots that bury deep
In memories
Bear fruits of new quandaries
And other plausible metaphors

But an egg will hatch a serpentine, sensual succubus
Insidious in form
That will slither, slip, silent
Never content to rest
Rummaging through forgotten questions
And astounding observations
Down the spine
Taking shivering form
Ceaselessly hungry
Within the belly
Carelessly pressing
In knocking lose old morality
Cautiously expiring
Only when still

Of the two, sturdy tree and ghostly conniver, I’d rather the one that admits no false stability.