last on the hill

machine has stopped

it’s engines

churning towards the end

white noise….. only breathing

and your last exhale ascends

towards a futile lump of hope

towards a black cloak velvet sky

hot  exhale forms foggy mist

above a milky iris….

above a blind mind’s eye

concentrate on pure connection

pour yourself into tunnel intention




go cross eyed as your mind

turns you inside out



are you

draped over a loping hill

meandering human form

heart and soul wrung out

and mind inches along your exhausted will

and your knees are grass burned

stained from battle

though you’re thoroughly supine

your machine has stopped

engines churning

cut open

for the divine


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