in the cacophony

In the cacophony

Yearn not for the beanrind

But for the husk of moonlight

And the night that weans a child

One drive into insight, mother

Safes the severing of heart

For only to the taste of dew

And to the fragments of strewn light

Is faith comparable, slithering

And lurking down the passage of time

To the follicle of earthskin



But as I weave the fabrics

And the remains of thought, I behold

Slats of sunlight, coruscating

Beneath the ethereal-

An expanse where only vultures feed



Now, where are the waterfalls

And the verdant foliage of self?