(deadly quartet)

my life is bare and i don’t care.  no one knows my mind.
private world gone old, frigid cold.  there’s but ice flows left behind.
today’s a day that  never came.
tonight’s a dream of death,
as I sit beside spectral fireplace, shooting crystal meth.
perception dark, my body numb,
dehydrated beyond tears.
truth, delusion, neither, both?
who cares?  it’s only years . . .
Purity of Essence
“Purity of essence is to will one thing.”
Ooze into the dark.
Disappear forever.
No diving required.
Soldiers, persons of honor, heroes of
common cause, deserve concerted worship on the throne
of myth.  No longer men or women alone, adrift,
seeking meaning, solace for their losses,
receivers for their gifts. Sins and virtues 
washed in wars’ conflicting visions, no longer fit
collective debt.  Cynics’ crimes against our mirrors
deserve reflection.  Does the command of empire
demand recursive lies, impossibility of true
repentance, vicious alibis, endless pitches into
This body is not me; only what I have to travel,
to hunt the dark, hide from the day.
I am hunger unrelenting, eternal.
Pallid, weak, alone.
What story can I tell to comfort, imitate warmth?
Fetid alleys, dark cellars,
musty air of mystery, regret, revenge.
No morals here, no heat nor passion.
Cold, empty of anything but time,
to kill.

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