Your Voice

December was cut off with a mowing sickle Your voice is indicative of the Pyxis Today I will pray at the cemetery The sky shows eternity in the earth The bush is a mythical prototype Night power Morning water Noon passage And food in the evening Paralyzed arousal A word of metaphysics it itself Equator of the skin Sound of Bhartrhari in the shell Machine learning in the ocean White lily my father loved Dead trees head toward spring Things reminiscent of cattle saliva The mysticism person who wishes that voice is cut off I came down from the rocky mountain Then draw a circle on the ground and put your voice in it