Lord I speak in prayers
taut string-can lines

up into air I thought
I’d got free from those sky

wires felt my self
diffused amidst molecules

that wander tackless boil
down to naught but tick-tock

without you I thought that thread
run through my mother’s mothers

got snip-cut by sit-quiet
how no-thought shut tight

old angst-rush sewn
in my fringe-cloak my skull-cap

when I write my words want
backbone or backboard want wake-

fulness listening perhaps
you are that dreamt world

those bloomed ears perhaps
that makes you real perhaps

I left leapt forth some son
some new-shoed quark for sure

I found a wonder-
where a how-far-down

inside my rib-tight lack
they ring me sick

they bring no base no soul
no damp no dug-up mirror bone

alone and eyes closed
in vast flat of post-big-box-store lot

dusk a plucked hum melts
muscles under my bare and balding scalp

am I at om

am I long-cracked perhaps
Lord I’ve come back