Waning scion
encroaching
a course

An Isolated course;
coarse is its skin
blind-sight is its eye
with flutist wind
whistling its mind

Sly stars dripping
under fogged
horizons
the moon shuttering
light,
fleeing from the
gaunt wood
where I reside

Night,
shroud of
razor black
oozing pustules
of defect and blight,
mind snaking through
bowels--
grisly bowels kept in
swamps
kept in dark and damp
kept underground--
stone underground

Sprouting
out splintered
atonement,
slumped on a
broken wall

Gray above,
light humming
under feet,
through scabrous
stone and sodden clay

One hope lingers:
plunge worrisome
hands into the
viscous floor

Tugging fingernails,
bartering
screams with the wind,
grounded pain arises through the dirt,
latching to my veins

Injecting the soil and stone into my
twitching heart, feeding the cells with
native essence

Purging the human from
the silken skin; spraying it into
the sediment home

Bedrock welcomes my sight
and my trench
shapes my stale body.

           Becoming soil and rock
           and worms and root
           offers a listing breeze
           to the now formless thought

The dirt is in me
The rock is in me
The qualm is without