buried beneath

buried beneath me several children wail. no one beings to know the noise of their voices. it fragments and shudders and carries itself in a hissing, steaming wind. when the world drops its course i am a dim sinking rock placated by dreams of waning. what is allowed to be beneath me: rulers of gaping eternity and shelters for ruinous corpses who've burned relocated massive heirarching negative saturns. what pours forth tangles in eyelashes: what names in a bedspread i hear i even see myself in the simple beginnings of it all: who goes hoarsely all in this mountain; a wish, a little coin dropped in a fountain; i see myself, my noise my trifling eyes, they sit a little longer; what nearest to me is the closet to bursting, what knows me is the farthest from carrying me away; what levels me is the least likely to grow, what talks me is the only ritual i have; how then do we know, the knowledge of truth quacks and i am lost; a mourning develops and i i i ; whatsoever this talking is about i have no prim identity with faith; the punctuation flatters me but really it knows that what is lost cannot be found find fringing forth from matter --- correct i assume that pieces of me fall delicately wind tokens or sky notes urchins of losing sweltering bodies cabling tree top insanity - a shelf a broom a label a torch