The curls wind down
To differing heights.

The Brightness is
Stifling.

Like Damian,
I am dead.

To say less is
to say more.

Crazy you say?
I am not.

Jillian,
Floats thought my thoughts.

A sign wasted,
Deserted.

The window is
Wide open.

I do not dream
Anymore.

A Troubled thought, my way passed
Of a desert dry and vast.
Voices cough, bodies squirm,
Each trying to evade their turn.
All things new fade away.
What is visceral now refuses to stay.

Under a light sky and heavy sun
Walk we must until day is done.
There are those who try and run ahead
Damien smiles as another soul he's fed.
Sand shift under our feet.
Fickle, how our lives are fleet.

Crimson paints the grey street
Others pass and look away
Another soul joins the fleet
To rendez-vous where the Rivers meet

More and more, more souls each day
Drift toward the mouth that never tires
Everyone must pass this way
Whether by accident, meditation, or decay

All to one, all à la pire
Marching to the saddest lyre
And keep stoked the ever-burning fire
Watch the smoke rise higher
And higher.