A curse upon you
for casting me the role of
a blind tracker
who's anxious with each step
lest his fumbling fingers
his stumbling stroll
will wipe clean the footprints
you left in the sand

----

A pox on your head
for sentencing me to
hang
from the smoldering debris
of my crumbling hopes
by a noose tied and fixed
to the moment
your turned back has
crossed through the door

----

Be ******
all that is you
a decaying piece of cloth
wrapped around dried up bones
produced from the depth of the past
rattled and hastily poured
pretending to feign me a future
with your crickety crackling song