Eaten Upon the Mountains (By Dust Prophesying Against Flesh)

Eaten upon the mountains
     by dust prophesying against flesh,
     bewteen beatings, from inside
     one attempts to find hiding some test
     the meaninglessness of such
     torture so ferocious as this must

need its reason to be, must
     keep, or at least seem, hidden some such
     lesson. Attentive, this test,
     when listening to its hertz, mountains
     incremental what, inside
     hearts bruised like mine bleed, data for flesh

with wounds to write across flesh
     what, to others, might sound hushed inside.
     How this pain of mine mountains
     from experience witnesses must
     go on to describe as test,
     in the end, worth its conflict’s bite. Such

ravenous attack on such
     rational mind might cannibals test
     and find more animal, must
     conclude as most unusual. Flesh
     from travellers on mountains
     lost, found by soothsayers whose inside

views persective that inside
     through which even prophets go. Mountains
     far too high, too wide, for flesh
     uncleansed by tongues of fire to climb such
     heights as these which, in dreams, must
     seem only promises by this test

kept. Without purpose, what test,
     then, even goes on to fulfill? Must
     be necessary that such
     abuse flourish here when, from inside
     of us, is pulled through bone flesh
     enough for birds to follow mountains

          to hollows in those mountains,
               below stone bowels, where bowls inside
               upturned, invert our hurt such.