Mother said: Consider all beauty credit. The lonely fire found otherwise Asleep in phallus, faces, the babe of light fungus in the seaweed pencil at the still edge We’re empty masques. Looked For: an executioner; disturbed in humble years, firelight, young pelted pines Wrapping me and I became my face a gentle harmony of dread That It Would Be true as my own dream, “Y’all Through all” Ages of bells. I far-off closed my soul. From level eight I greeted A lamentation, among thoughts. Often I set The landscape behind bars I think it. The end gone now. The road passion over all. People imposturing; knowing they should be more. Voices grow.
