Stateless

First, a state did crack me,
And then the devil
Indivisibly did hack me;
In a dream, I hanged on a heath,
Poured my endless heart out
To thunderous friends
Suspended underneath
Where secrets will not keep,
For you cannot hold a pen
When peaty fens grip
With a potash-painted
Serrated beak.

In the ever-aching distance,
A final burning spire;
Nothing I can do.
Sky-ribs pierced,
Limbic cadences and seditions,
Marshland feet bound
With mallow and rue.

I soaked my face in the lake of the deaths –
I cannot say what I witnessed; instead,
A frozen rotten seagull wing,
A bald and bloodless silver moon.

I heard there is a market
Every weekday afternoon,
Where nature abundantly flows
In shapes of latent marrow
And ample, gravid legumes.