I have flown so far from God even the angels cannot find me
on this mountain.  We misfits, all who toe the earth
with one foot dragging, hear the world nagging over unimportant matters.
I stood overlooking the South’s Arlington
with rows of white teeth silenced
and voices of ten thousand whispers separated by morning fog

and now I cannot believe in anything of substance
as the ground vibrates, shakes loose my bones
while I search for grace and dignity
and beauty in a world where there appears to be none.

If only I could be more than what I am
and not such a disappointment
to myself with a miasma of wild wreckage swirling
off the ground and slowly dancing a waltz
around the lives of neglected men.  What of this world
has been left behind that is of any good?