The Haven of Grace

We must not search within space and in remembrance 
In the dusty enormity where houses sleep
We must not search within time and in memory
In scrap obscurity where the rooftops are chipped
I would not have searched in wine nor in indulgence
In the deep indigo void of a blank window 
I would not have searched in moments and history 
In the dull soulless streets under the weight of walls
The plans retrace this topographical
Archives create this chronological
Death affirms pure in the empty dry gap
Sand spread out dispersed in public gardens major
And the collapsed school where aspires my childhood
Grocers' skeletons skeletons of tailors
Cadavers dispersed throughout the old book
They have killed every wall they have killed the light's glow
Before remembrance commences to exhaust
They have killed all walls their supplementary livestock 
I die in each quartier through the city backdrop
In little dust specks I dance at sun-up
Of which my heart was of which too was my hand
And my head and foot and my scholar's tableau
And agony and pain and the games of the night
A broom a broom a broom for the dust that drops
I'm already so dead I laughed myself to tears
This sea of which washed all those who want cleanliness