mired in mystic patterns
such endless, pale delight
as spirit arc is flattened
the day gives way to night
yet one panders to the paradigm
like all those bloodless hosts
predilection dross, not making time
whichever numbs the most
the lattice structure comes of us
some callous sort of web
high and low degrees of trust
like rivers flow and ebb
climb like fools the iron towers
blind for all we think we need
we bleed to fill the empty hours
as faint trust again recedes
formless come unto the scene of this
some vacant witness to it all
turn away to know some fleeting bliss
turn away to heed the call
