Skull F?+_ed

0 midday, easing with warm hay my brain
to field, plain, pasture, flocks,
soft dissolution, as with flowing arm
1 draw the poppy to my brow —
still winging over curse and grief
of growth, great arched one
extirpate eye's mind.

Through mountain scree, through dusty carrion,
through beggarly serration
of the rocks — streams
the ubiquitous mother blood,
insensible
gestation.

Animals live for the day
the udder has no recollection,
the slope holds out in silence to the light it's flower
and is destroyed.

But I, with watchman between blood and claw,
brain-consumed carrion, curses
hurled in the void, bespat with words,
aped by the light —
o great arched one
let drop into my eyes one hour
of the light eyes never saw —
melt colour's deception, brandish
the mud-crushed lairs in the thunder
of the prancing suns, plunge of the double suns,
O all suns' ceaseless falling.
--GB