rile and error

At a certain depth, you will see
The revolving shore, the bolstered
Panopticon reeling from so much

Vision; at a certain depth, the mid
Wife of leavened sorrow breaks; it
Is denied, reddened and bleached;

At a certain depth, you will see
Crutches of meaning, the daubed
Paper stains that are now ghosts.


No, the lamp in the cast off bulb
Is not the one you seek; you seek
The heart of riverstone; no, that
Plinth, that crux is not the song

You sing; you sing the heart of a
Bledstorm; no, those ballasts oft
Sped into truthspills are not the
Wrong you seek; you seek the peat

I swallow my rooted mask at the
Tip of error,

At the glowing mint and whisper;
The tip of

Error, at the house of worship and
Want; at the

Tip of error, I swallow my rooted
Mask and fly.