The arrival of senselessness
Is a great shadow over the earth,
a cooling cloud in the summer
causation of looking up--

Gift-givers wander the slopes and with packets of thought,
They run their fingers along the stones and the trees and the fields
Grassy,
Following the trails of clouds wandering just as inconsequent
Leaving tears as rain on the steppes and letting them drain into the deathly floors
asking them to give the ability for new things to drink
This is the true Holy Water


And a patchwork soul seeks, fixated,
answers to the crackled nature of their vessel
Running into the same stone of them, cancerous
soon left to sands and dust
Ozymandias

The blades of leaves rattle a sad salute
Their ragged branches sheathed xylem, a perfect skyscraper design
Preventing edema of the like kind

Show to me that this place in not but the momentary awareness of light, a stopping point in the infinite variation

To locate oneself in the rapid raveling of everything into one great big
Sorrowful tear, running from the eternal blackness of the night
that holds noting but the absence of itself.