Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
-All's Well That Ends Well, Shakespeare
Another well-burnt dusk,
clouds clawing up and out,
denying the gray night-grave.
The evening is so fast:
raw-mooned, silvery-blooded;
our hearts are lesser-than.
Thoughts in a jar, prepared
for the thinnest journey:
O, the memory carousel...
No: Stop the grief, cork it up.
Throw the midnight away.
The gun is empty,
click click click.
The roulette wheel churns
towards the cold morning.
Careful, reader: look how
the black garden blooms -
shhhh - take a sip... forget them.