Million

A million holes a million
Around me in the air
Pockets of air seething in the game
The more I , the more
This troubled lazy light
This is not white, not white

I try to whisper carefully
For these things are fundamentally
If they were heard, if they were
People longing, would be groaning
Truth is death, and that truth is dead
And people hiding it
Underneath layers of a artichoke hearts
Pealing away, pealing
Eternally, fundamentally, carefully