The light has dispersed
And migrated
To another crack in the universe; somewhere
Shut off from those
Who are so acutely delirious, a place
Where you can mingle with a docile smile
And weary half-shut pupils.

Somewhere shrouded in half-cut peace
And dwindling creases in bone-white cheeks.

When the light
Has found this place
I shall roam the foreign streets, ducking
My way through the brick retreats
And sleeping bodies, squeezing
Through huddles of gristly hands
That sit upon embers and
Empty stomachs.

I shall
Ignore all this and rather
Look upon the sides of buildings
Where pictures can linger
Of children
Grasping red balloons
Or of husbands
Washing up famished teaspoons, my
Eyes are welcomed by these sights
For they are dull
But they are so very kind.

And, when I am asked
Why I stand here, waiting, on the curb
In my damaged demeanor
I shall say,

“I am crowned Lucifer, fallen
From the edge of envy, shut
Out from the clouded glory, and now
Tasked to seek a question, a
Time-weathered question”.

And the crowds
Will reply in their frayed utterings
And silver-laced mutterings,

“We do not know
The queries you seek, or
Why you stand
Upon the ledge of the street, alas
We do not know what it is
You seek at all”.

And so,
The brick and concrete
Will have to do, it is where
I have made my bed
And where I shall lay
With my wings clipped and
Smile cracked, but
I am not yet dead, only my
Hands which sit dipped
In the gutter, and I natter
And I mutter -

“Where does the Morningstar go
When the gates are sealed
And the couples have gone to bed
And all that can be heard,

‘Am I dead,
Am I not yet dead ?’ ”

These words that I muster
And create (these words
That I bleed and paint)
Take on the form
Of a twin-headed snake
And they let out a snigger
And a slither, intertwined
And brittle, my
Voice passes on
Thinner than before.