Mummified

hear birds chirp
outside the brain-rain
with wilted underbrush,

those are car carrying birds
to passengers
who live far from the homes of their
shadows’

music on the wind
in the meantime
listen, as all mountains
glide

to their centerpiece and dine
with chess board replicas as seated
chairman sit around discussing and debating
the sensations of the

screen catching fire in the nerves of its erasures,
neurons of endless
epiphany of what never returns, even
after extinguished the body lay, a
palm open

mouthed, a snake
from within the sternum of the dead-forest
wiggles up
out of the throat of these museums, and day
into night, its
yellow skulking eyes perch on fences of liminal-metallic air
states between here

and there, shafts of lightning littering each pause
in search of a light-house or a wig or an apple tree or a split
wood, where wailing bricks formulate walls despite the inclination
to settle down and breathe, little

rest comes to the horse-back car-seated equivalent of these faceless
regions tucked beneath our skulls, ticking
rush away down a sink of eroded mountain-sides, balding,
hairless skin

all that’s left, ash
and a mummified conception of wind

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