I drink at dusk
ess muss sien
it must be
as it is written

i wake at dawn
woe is me, morning woe
trite was i, in her eyes

realize i must
that i miss
only what i
cannot have
i drink at dusk

Spectrous aberrations of youth
Surround him, embrace him
Leaving him disoriented, dismayed
Amidst sultry belongings
He’s tethered to that pole of vicissitude
Draped by disfavor
Postmarked Valhalla
Addressed to Folkvangr
Teased by irreverent lovers
In pursuit of contentment
His chronicles restart
In an unpublished testament
Bound by leather, cows unfettered
One lifeless body stationary
Crimson streams part chalk-dry lips
As love’s guillotined victim drips
His future’s fortune forsaken
Willingness to triumph in battle
Leaks from this dimension
With each fluxing discharge
Of her stream’s outgoing apathy
And his fluid permeates alluvium
In streambeds near life’s summit

To leave my glassy shell
And wander ‘twixt the verdant hills
Only to gaze at the industrial city as it spills.
Over this once quiet landscape,
Now choked with bitumen black roads and luminous eyes which keep vigils and forebode.
The skies licked by sound and smoke
Staring down at the shuffle of ill-proportioned buildings amidst a sea of compounding unknown things.
To walk down the narrowing alleys and breathe and smell the stagnant vapour;
Watching the walls crumple like old letter paper.
The street lamps like black spears; upright and joyless.
With lights that cast shadows like dancing daemons
Disappearing at the sight of the early mornings;
Dawn. This has always been and always will be.