the crackling oxidation is
the ants make homes inside
it is a dead tree
and it is a rancid thought
it is what is
it is a community looking at their chests
it is my fault
the time is still running on it
and it is my constant consciousness
it is what is
The truth bathes us
but we are not solved with water.
the symphony is never tuned
The visible conductor dies,
he is you and me.
and we are in its knot
it is a thing where we sat ourselves as judges
it is our fault
someone will be bleeding on it
to unwind the thing and peel it back
My feet need bathing
and my blood is only water.
