IT IS A DAMNING BLOODLESS TIME TO BE ALIVE AND IN LOVE
CHASTIZED
CIRCUMVENTING TURTLE DOVES
AT THE SPEED
OF WAR:
preface this
in a wake of what roves
what undulates beneath the wreaths of painted doors
in front of what should be a door step
a stoop
instead lays the view
from half way down
approaching the abyssal zone

and here we float
an echo in the deep
amongst echoes in the deep
coin-eyed and death masked
lo,

none shall weep

here i lay, mere clusters 
of veins in the deep:
of what once fed the hopeful shine 
living on the backs of retinas, 
of what once held the sweaty palms of lovers
broaching heat death together
naloxone-scented and 
a very loud cardiogram
(ive never heard such a noisy
and high pitched 
silence )
of nine past lives
of 
ninety years in weight only
carried and aging 
leaving cheap bone spurs and degraded
cartilege 
of whispered, sombre conversation
packed away in undereye bags
(dark circles of dispel these 
FUCKING
MISERABLE
TRUTHS) -- 

of misspent youths. 
(an overused yet true cliche
you'll hear this from me many times
as many times as I have tried to relive those dog days
correctly)

what an alimony to pay 
to nothing:
tithes to weigh down the corners of the sheet of homage 
barely keeping the beady rain away 
(only just tonguing the corners 
of this metaphor
leeching the bronze of crumbled statues into the deep wells 
of groundwater, all of which draining to here
to now ) 

it is a damning, 
bloodless time to be alive

but at least i left the ground fertile and red 
descended while strung and hung by the neck until dead 
my own deft knots learned by dumb and clumsy hands 
-- at least i left a fucking bruise of what i used to be.