who shit in the grass
tough skies laughing at error
like a hat full of hell
that is glued to a swift
footless dream figure
and the docks are rolling out
like streams of swine
to feed the rolling brine
and I'm at home in days
of far rooted abandon
that separate the trees by reaching
shores that finger towards
some crawling infinity of clouds
that never breaks or yields
to the goals of man
far reaching vast in silence
suns capped by artificial snow
the long and ragged landscape
of glances that are gone
fond looks full of uncertainty
set loose to hell at last.
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