i get in my way
often with these
hands

i used to make things
now i break
them

crush every little
thing, every little
bone

the black birds
scream and dive
bomb

out of the sunless sky
into the welcoming
earth

they, like me,
finally have had
enough

i wake up from this
nightmare, i wake up
dead

everything drained out
of me, the bloodletting of
hope

i am upon the time
of my mangled
dreams

i gather my crumpled
confidence and realize
nothing

this better be good.
a thought slithers
down the spine
gliding on venom.

and once again.
bitten by that snake
of ambition, the
heart chokes with

disappointment.

i feel as
a peddler
on the street,
a street

peddling his
flimsy and
shabby concoctions
of doom and grime

come and
get it
get it here
now or never

except i lack
the street
and the cart
and even courage

i feel a
traitor to
my soul
my pneuma

but even the
gods had to
show us what
they'd done

a nascency
frivolous
often wicked
and seldom

equitable

he stood there
dreaming of
greener grasses

the potentiation
for a collapse
grew larger,

stronger.

he watched all
that green fade,
rubbed out

it could have
been so much
better and

in supposition,
could have been
worse too.

these judgments
of quality are
of no necessity

they trample out
his grasslands, strip
out the verdure

if he could
stand as
something different,

stronger.

if it could just
be disparate
for him.


with all these ifs
that beauty once
beneath his feet,

all around him dies.

it is cold
and silent
a grey wind
moans through
the loose
window
when it gets
just like
this
i feel the
world has
stopped
and now
it is mine
to fill

all i have
to fill
it with
is yellowed
memories
faded and
melancholy
films
a dull
and sullen
pining
for days
that might
have been
that maybe
were

i can't be
certain

but i hope
this silence
lasts.

fingers,
twisted as
the aimless
souls on
these streets.
frost bitten
with winter's
duty and

this job,

nothing always
changes.

for them
as for me
the days
unwind and
unravel,
disappearing
and to what
end?

in wonderment
of supposed
purpose
the answers
clatter about
in my skull.
inscrutable

insomniac

phantoms.

and all
i covet
is sleep.