Worth One-Thousand Pictures

Shedding dead-skin sweaters
Across this lye-soaked thread
Weaved to 1000 count
The scarves we smother ourselves with
Men made to stand their ground and die
But I
Fall through this earth
As if racing to the blaze will only singe
The dirt beneath my fingernails

So I
Fall through this ground
Plow through the sound
Of each inch compressed
Fall through this ground
I fall through all the ground
That I have gained

Sundays spent marching through sun-showers
To find just one dry spot
To hang my head in
Eternally smelling the pine
Stationary
Longing
For the things that aren't mine
Hang these mirrors
Cover the walls
To grow me brave
Sanction this grave

So I
Fall through this ground
Plow through the sound
Of each inch compressed
Fall through this ground
I fall through all the ground
That I have gained

You say many things in the dark
That you can't make stay out past rise
And though the leaves may change their shade
I can see through their weak disguise
Because I still know what you are
Your trembling exposes lies
I'll let the insects find their place
To fill the cracks of this divide

I stand my ground
As the earth shakes