o, anomie, the gnash of train-gear
its locomotive song
a non-metropolitan shadow carrying
the weight of all:

life in grandest scheme—
nothing pressed against
nothing,
like a boulder dragged to the
pinnacle of no preordained vertigo,
to be watched to fall down
in rampant perpetuity,
o, Sisyphus, the world spirals
in an indifferent universe.
must our lives tilt to be nourished
by the water of despair,
   this is our fate yet still
i refuse to believe. there are finite
truths to accomplish:

the lucid invitation of the desert's fever.
the deepening dark, the fugitive pastel-hued sky, the intensity of rain
     in complete darkness.

it is the dawn in the Mediterranean festooned by supple, tawny women,
    as sunlight moves past
    the fused shade,

  my, i have died!
     in this exact moment, or the
ordinary yesterday,
     i know not.