learned off by heart    the outer crust of disease
forced into the dielong jacket  that was good enough for what was
site of truth supplications thereto     also a forgetting
after it now    already by virtue of words' fissilitude
not what it is  merely what I kill of myself

in reverse following stasis
excluding that which preceded as direction
growing back into the nourishing mud
that secreted my yellow head in exile
and now hawks up entire graves
those relicts of myself once ignored
glowing lumber forming mountains
depressions and seas that roared gourmandishly
valid the landscape lively enough
a heap of silence that is me tongueless