I am the patron saint of lost eyelashes
of foggy cloudless minds
and faded neon piping

of the Ocean's Retreat
of blown out birthday candles
when the wish-maker
never intended.

I am the patron saint of loose boards
creaking and rattling
skeletons
mere shadows of
past grandeur

and the wind quickens
and the light magnifies
and sensation multiplies

but the numbness maintains its steady and resolute path onwards
into the dark coils of the future.