my souls a ploughed ground
in a folding chandler of bones
staring into a night of burnt steal
black star
third eye
a wing with sight
sitting on the knee of lotus
the knee of listening
the knee of your voice
speak-less
i move from some inner locomotion
distant from the minds arson
that old inner argument,
self; plucked thorn
a burning city dire

i vacillate like a blurring shadow
a feathered ghost
skull of the arcane
and in a split second
find you like a space ship in the woods