melancholia, or
the darkening
of the blood.

in the deepest
part of the night,
(3:23 a.m.
to 4:47 a.m.)
i take great
comfort in the
shape shifting
of my hemoglobin
to black bile.

the future
billows
into the winds,
whipping
the last trees.
and in the
lowly rustle
we lose our
way. marching,
oh so bravely,
into the delusion
of salvation
as our mountains
turn to storms
of sand.

you, supine
in your divinity,
as these perfect
days prove to
be our last.
and out hearts
give over to
chaos and
madness.

the sky ignites,
the waters
now still
and dead.
a grey ashen
murk.

those words,
come to us
from some
ancestral
recesses in
the turbid
encephalon
of our minds.

ignis letum

as the rest
of the flames
overtake our
homes and
flesh.

::: five postcards :::

this is
what i
become,
in this
space
as i fight
in the
insomniac
hour against
my shriveling
will

it radiates outward
from my center
something akin
to peace
that static droning
in my ears, my
mind. everything
in focus
the waves of
black light
crashing within
my chest and
i flow
with it

no longer do i
impede this
darkness,
i am the
darkness
i am the
world's broken
heart

as the light
goes out of
our eyes

we stare into
the bleak distance
and behold

the darkening
enormity of
our unfinished
dream

now the
winds
tear the
blossoms
from their
homes
out in this
wilderness
amidst the
wolves
and other
beasts

i've got birds
that soar
in my heart

that scream
into the
mountains

over the trees
and above
the festering
rivers

we turned back
and watched the
ashes in the sky,
our hopes lay
gasping and the
concrete burning
beneath our feet.

from the west
the winds
will tear
the sinew
from our bones.
in this
bleak light
our tattered
hearts rest.