and all this,
i did
while you slept

i sheared the mountains
i ignited the oceans

i filled your soul
with sorrow

i did this
i did this all
i am

the broken
arrow shaft,
poisoned tipped,

in your heart

let
the sky
fall
down
into the
inimical
and
jaundiced
ocean

let
the
mountains
burn
and the
fevered
world
gasp

in the
miscellany
of these
days,

i can
feel it
come

swelling,
gripping
my skull

tightly.
constricting
my breast.

choking
my soul.
disappointment

is a way,
is the way.
the ash

fills my eyes,
nose, throat.
breathe in

deeply.
my blood
thickens,

my heart
slows.
my vision

blurs, fades,
washes out.

the lie
is accepted.
morphing

into a truth,
into the truth.
our existence

now hinges
upon
it.

i've spilled it
on myself again,
this darkening
trouble,
this deepening
sorrow,
harboring this
lament into
and through
the sweet
night

in this twilight
it seeps into
my marrow. i can
feel its darkness
set into my skeleton,
it reconfigures the
bone, my structure.

as the constellations
scrape their dead lights
across the voided
welkin in primordial
trajectories, this
blackness i become.
subsumed in its

totality. rendered
unrecognizable by
that grand usurper.
i, vaporized by the
insatiable ticking
of the second hand,
smirk at its gape.

now the shadows
speak softly

the night slithers
away. and

it is usually
in these predawn

hours that i
long for the

eternity of
those moments.

it has been years
of restless sleep

for the stirring
of the soul only

yelps and howls
when i nod and

close my eyes.
i have a keen

sense of trouble.
it's wondrous and

exhausting. i can
feel it all crumbling

deep down in my
darkness. it touches

my liquefying mind.
it spills out and

seeps through the
floor boards

eons before you wake.
when you greet me

in the morning you
are, in all actuality,

greeting someone else.
a stranger

how we loved
the yearning
of the views
unbroken

...and from
the earth
lightning
cracked
into the
ruinations
of the
extinct sky

the gift
of the six
golden kings
grows into
our empty
dawn

floating
through the
black mists
of our feigned
sanctity

the pining rain
and the hot
tar roofs

the embers
of hope
slain by
our enterprise
glow dimly
in the
choking night

now we build
towers for our
wilting hearts

a
melancholy
descent

through the days
of the golden
light we spoke
of salvations

sturdy oaks
groan whispers
of hope

those places of
your slumber
crackling with
fire

when the
skies are
thick,
and oily,
and black
we shall
gather sunlight
through
the windows
of our dreams

drowning in the rains
all the ghosts
achromatize into
the mountains
of my memory

lumps in my throat
grow when the stars
revolve around my
heart

the nightly pyre
all dressed up
in sweat melted fat

sitting here
in the
fumigating night.
a thought
blazes across
the dome
of my skull.
another, then
another.

i ponder this
world i have
constructed and
continue to
build. i marvel
at its imperfect
totality. how it
harkens that other
place. how it reflects
it's horrors and
sadness. how it
attempts to
blaze with
that fragile
insignificance
of its
beauty.

in the attics
in basements.
in the solitudes
something stirs
and another
scavenged morsel
falls in to fill
the abyss.
the descent
eternal and
insatiable,
into a place,
this place
that is
now mine.

i take pictures everyday
every single day
mostly of the skies
to evidence the fate of
come what may

not unlike the Colonel
in his century of solitude
with his daguerreotype
pointed at the skies
trying to capture the face
of god in the clouds.

for I fear our doom is up
there hurtling towards us