No common cry can put you back in with the common people
as we are creaturely to others.

To be changed by a strangers look.

I have seen out. I have SEEN OUT.
But old and dusty clouds did linger.

I have shut my eyes and have seen a place
radiating, blessedly wicked.
Blissful and gaudy
sentientual
and under no influence of calamity
except for the calamity of beauty.

I repulse.

I gravely shut my eyes
and restore the same place
only patient.

I recline.

Restfully sifting through the origins
of thought.

Seedlings of thought that grow in the mind
subtle or as thickening as desire.

Desire as religion to the saints,
and cleanliness the reality of the ground.

Seedlings; profound. Seedlings estranged in song.

they;
Still crunching at my crown
Still heavy at my soul.

A crunch like your lovers dead weight on top of you.

An ancient instinct post-instinctual delightenment.

the language of a displaced colony
with an infantry waiting at the coastline
and everyone howling out.

No common cry can put you back in with the common people.

(July 2011)