in the height and heather
warmly brushing against
make and muddle
omens speak unerringly
in the voices
between mind and nobody.
lost in the sense of death hand
or forgotten in sensing of collapsed
landscape
burning blindness dots horizons
scan sharp
charged into faithless
trampled wordless
left behind and struck
upon else and whether
when little is borne
upon tangential lines.
a hundred brands
of pillow soft
toilet paper spread evenly
across tobacco leaves
like decorative mantras
on the scarred face of christ.
bliss is upon those who can
give up quietly
