And as she sleeps around her bed
the blinding deadbled world spins
Black sightless firepierced black universe
Empty the fire as she sleeps
The sleepy skeletontongued world
Massed blast of storms and sand rolls
Oh lovely world — come alive for me
The long tongued god is not real
He drags the chain clasped in his wicker fingered hands
This brother is paper thin — form but no substance
Never lived, so he is not dead
This is man's fear made trash
And as you light the incense stick
I pray that your fingers may burn