Mass

The original reproduction, you watch
Me through my own eyes, crying fragments of night

We are pinned insipid in the carnival
Of the ignorant mouth, a muzzle on thought

Orphaned meanings receding with our hair, each
Shakes sticks at a finite sky. We are as coal

Smashed from fire, our bloodless page belittles
Itself rhythmically. Bent by the settle

Of a sackcloth sun, silence soaks our flowers
See how their blossoms appear quite black, like full

Stops. The garden is shut you say, but briars
Dissonant and lovely, shoulder its strike. Whole

My meat rack relics will be clinging skin-tight
To this trick, preserved for the value of dirt

Into a fresher fold
As naked words grow old



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