Standing on a cloud

It is the laying of
Bricks of misunderstanding
Upon dull layers of reality.
Here rises a wall from the stubborn
Ground we dance upon, always.

As carving knives sharp is the silence,
Tracing along dotted lines along the head,
Marked fine by uncertainty.
A crescendo of whirring thoughts
Churned out like blackened messes
Fall to the feet we dance with, always.

If anything, it is the blazing knowledge
That unsettles, deep between the lungs,
That gnaws relentlessly. Hominivorax,
When life requires the ingestion of living
Which is how we dance.