visionless landscape offers
no faces in clouds, or dark
trees in the gloom.
rolls throughout
his rattle skull.
it’s like wind, it’s like the wind
stirring up a hail of sand.
womb to blood to dirt
as he stares
as he stares with eyes of milk
as he stares blind to sorrow
as he stares, drowned in the filament
of a million torrents
as he stares, this muse
is perpetually late. and he stares
while a heart turns iron.
heart of iron,
heart of pot metal.
heart of entropy
and he stares, while this thorn
pulls blood from his side.
an anchor.
