The manacles of time clank shut around self-betrayed necks
with merciless finality
as the corpses in unvomited graves
try to whisper their regrets
through lips sewn shut with mortician's twine
and sealed shut
with the flesh-colored wax
of guilt

Mirages of banquets are occasionally conjured
to make dead mouths water with dust
beneath the leafmold
of tortured eternity

Lavish illusions of light and air are offered
but only the humus soil
is spooned by time
into the nostrils
with the earthworms of
of resentment

Silence is breached in perfidy
and craving in lying visions
of bounteous tables teeming with life's roasted plenty
once spread before these bulging eyes
and withered tongues

Echoing chambers are filled
with mental cries of those souls
who are flayed, rolled, and crusted
in the offscourings
of their own ground-up contrition
like a coat of pumice and splintered glass of hate

The vile demons hear those imagined screams
and laugh tauntingly at the suffering
which is their own midnight meal

Lust feeds the brazen
as remorse devours the penitent
for a recalled kiss
or stolen touch of affection
is but provender
to those ravenous memories and illusions
of long-forgotten feasts of love
that flicker in the mind
as though reflected
in rainbow-colored mud puddles
distorted
by drifting slicks
of motor oil

The dreamer will never be aware
that his own summoned memories
are the filthy womb of his endless nightmares
that drag after-birth chains
through his every waking hour
and prevent even a moment
of healing slumber

No

The menaced head
never sleeps
and the feast of illusions
never ends