I can't understand

their mystic heaven or thrills

housed in awareness

time's intricacies

or sources of plastic mist

through mythical depths

the wings of my thought

are too short to climb god's height

or blue deeps of peace

I stand on the edge

of earth's physicality

waiting on the brink

with shadowy lines

and curves to image march of

eyeless Jagannath

if nobody sees

the collapse of procession

and the dark precinct

don't blame the poets:

there is too much emptiness

and gloom to ignore

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