although the night is all we have
we must not destroy the sun
and in our hearts, through our veins
flow the ideas and thoughts that must not reach the surface
our arteries contain the world within a windless moment
I have written your pulse down into these pages
upon pages of lore, I have felt your blood
pump under my hand and through my pen
the dark stains have marked me as guilty
spreading my life around the city,
these streets are moving, moving, motion in the blood
and the cells of words flock in and out, dancing under my eyes
I have never felt so alive
but I have never felt quite so sad and so lonely
is it lonely to be alive? what age did your mother die?
how many pulsations can we fit while we rage
against the dying of the light?