downcast
and doubled over
the
pound of light and desire
flash
and surprise my only defense
as
rage thunders from the sky
this
life without you:
my
nerves are acicular and rare
I
lost you in the smoke,
in
the stinging gases
my
reality a thousand shards of glass
each
brilliant with gothic light
I
sleep in the obsequious flattery of day
curled
against the giant, prying eye, the sun
as
I awaken all too many times;
in
silence and this solitary light.
October
14, 2001