Landscape the fatal solution,
abandoning the pre-world
                                          he takes pleasure
in mutely, and often
spacing out, tipsy, drunk, confident
till the juice runs out.

What made him hold onto such damnable
                      lilies succumbed
with the raw roots of melancholy?
Never purging the dancers
                                   twirling
through a decade old sound system, they say
                "I don't think you know what you did."

***** circling in his eyes, they dance,
                                                 "But I'm going to help you."
               The dancers rebel
      across the floor, down the stairs
   ---to the dark, his eyes
washed by the caked acid running
                               down executed cheeks
so helpless, the rhines of a ranting romance
roped idiotically to the gospel grave.

All the ways he sighs,
at all the wrongs snowing down
on his neck. "Nothing about us ever shivered."