Towering idol
shining, sleek, untarnished by
jealous, acrid smoke
Flitting of insect
wings and delicate traces
of broken leaf stems
Still not conscious of
laughter, indulged in thick, wet
moss of apathy
I must try to look
down, off, out, away, and yet
directly into
The complexity
of being in this place, with
dim light and slow thoughts
