The World of Erosion, Section Seven

7

(mixture middle mixture river sound river round reaper - )

cranes, leaning in the wind, in a falling environment of steel...
I'm so ashamed, the time I've been away, time being all debris, buried to my mouth in the hole, dig out under earth buildings. I cried. What was it? time, time to school myself back, back to the remedial place...
I dread that which I amounted to, nothing, no say no thing no heard...now is the time for country and waking, no streets, why there is the strangest sound from my window - hair licked down to big god beneath the boards, your god, identical to mine, creatures scatter the lawn over - thinking of

the river...watch the tinkering, erecting, plow along, razing -

out of the skin fold.

on a short, opposite bank, spill on the shore line...
masqueraders primitive locomotion, some ritual I did
on the cobblestones,
displying my symptoms, my syllables, envious of numbers, patterns

step on the backbone factory,
mad verse in staccato blasts -

amnesty for the habitually clogged, bent pollex, mighty bond...
aww...a related sham, in a circle, complaining, but when, when I began to remember, small, flexible hypodermics, I turn slack-minded, rubber-boned,
to moon hounds I go, chanting from my top heavy torso -
back of my skull gets rapped, the floor ascends...