Not Dirt but Not the Sky

Maybe the rot was just in the nose....sunlight scrapes up sore temples.....ants taking new slaves from the garden.....she dropped her glasses.....you can feel the walls push out.....body of bones chained to water....a rock got under his skin.....storms break dense fragments.....but you never showed up.....days circle the room and angle absence.....flies buzzed with premature notions .....he waited then came back.....no one could make sentences of the words.....the lake spread penance for muddy reasons.....dull thud of hammer and claws.... I sat in a pasture.....flies continued the dung war.....no one could make words of the letters.....blood the texture of rust.....ruinous spill broke at the sternum.....you smelled of shoots and their weeds.....no one could make letters of the letters.....his fingers suck the pit of a grainy pocket.....not dirt but not the sky.....his nose won't stop itching....a green fluid turned black when it hit air.....months later they found a diary.....no wind could hide it.....skies fell behind a measured spin.....silence of ground crowds him.....but where are you now.....sparrows fanned in silent ascension....furrows cracked muddy with patience.....newscasts kept talking of you.....refrigerators rot in nameless woods.....I thought you were here