Scalp of earth

I cannot break through the names
even the semantics are broken
all maggoty and syrupy and wet
and I wish I knew how not to talk
of temperature and blood types
but only of remedies and of anointment
one of bristling truth
with many others clinging on to it
in a moment of perverse withdrawal
one of solemn imagination
awakening to embark on brutal health
the moist and musky sweat of all alike
reminders of the characters of men
angered and loving and triumphant
overcome by strangeness
their stealth and their blind coma
reclined against the rocky scalp of earth
on the hour of trickling leaves
birth of the pindrop
in the stillness and insanity of shadow
behind the broken seals
there is a piercing aroma of childhood
I seem to remember life alone
not knowing what anything means
what is the value of anything
thinking then
if all is perishable then
that must be its value
the value is death
alone a reason to exist
a long truth