A good-looking tree informs my visit
a simple minded man rolling my feet
soil dressed by
wet moss
And the horns of the city
In the silent totality  
like the laughter of the street
Boys of infinite wisdom
Eyes turned into nothing
Setting their glaze on the prize
The Mound living soundly as a weeping caress You live in here
You were born into this The lines of hell
The waiting hours
The desperate flies
hanging as to disappear And  yet
How laughable it all is and her pair of legs Coming out of there
Like an insult to
cornered souls
In the neverness of it all
Men delights to see fallen men
Delight on horrors yet
what little do they know
when an empty
Glass picks at their Strings
And run away to see other men fall