The Mountain That Took the Place of the Mountain

Majorly sketchy 0th draft and apologies for the length, but hoping for general thoughts before I start reworking.

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Adze or gold veins lain bare, the mounting   Processed about the train. Re-verb

The exhausted parade and, court,  
Announce the chosen king, describe

His broken bones, the drip of water,  
His broken bones, from vaulted arch,

Drip of water, broken bones, vaulted  
Arch, the parade again sputtering

Out, drip of water, exhausted  
Voice. Court, thy weavery is fine

But it suits not the lightly train:  
your weavery, the bulksome mountain.

Here where the Tuskaloosa  
Breaks through a thinning crop of trees,

Court! I have espied thee most,  
I have watched you steal the cracked

Rib into the muddy face  
And push off, others on your spectral

Ship who may not have been of you  
Threading line through phallanges, needling.

Thy weavery is coarse to me.  
I am the counter of such things.

And I'm like half vegetable  
At this point; I don't know how it

Happened but one minute you were  
There and the next you were gone

And I'm just here freaking the fuck out.  
Court, I may think you're a steaming pile

Of you-know-what and may have given  
One star to your loom-work and we

May hate each other most of the time  
And because of me you may never

Feel the mountain again, but I don't know  
Where I was going with this sentence.

I'll have to fumble the light switch  
A sec. And here we are! Here we

Are! After so many nightly years,  
Here! Here! The vast cathedral and there

Those sketches were Michelangelo  
But the Flemish did those ones up

And the bones are here, too, Heaven  
Knows how they dragged them up

The mountain from the sun and plopped  
A cathedral about them, the stadium

Lights alone are mystery enough.   
Court, I appreciate the gesture,

It must have come at some expense,  
But the collateral on the tapestries

Is fucking gone when he wakes up,  
Your weavery, shredded, this stained

Glass, shattered, stadium lights,  
blown out, cathedral, crumbling.

The tower isn't even square.  
The train tumbling off the mountain,

The parade called off for rain, rain,  
Court, rain, for who knows how long, reign, when

He, the heavens will be only part  
Firmament, will crack, will crack, will

Fracture. And down from the mountain, now, petals  
Pressed between psalms. Quiet, so quiet now.

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