I seek the roots that shape
my desperate cries, my bones
that ache in bed I image
the snakes in forgotten heritage
to weave delight with baha'i mind
and prayers in english before Kali
stand out alone with psalms
or tablet of Ahmad, perhaps
I cross-breed in soul

but, who hears or sees
the ancient hands that signed
the first poems for man?
I sound strange, and strange I am
rooting about among ventricles
for my anonymity with names

Good flow, but sounds like automatic writing (cringe).

what the hell is automatic writing?

To answer a question of an Unknown:

Automatic writing is purportedly writing done while in trance at the direction of spirits. Whether such writing comes from the other side or from within the self, it is done without conscious thought on the part of the writer.