Late twenty first century nights are thin stuff
Indeed, a thicker air would greater comfort bring
For flighting dire aches and sighs enough
A desperate wish in the lone twilight sings
That I may again cry, and cry over everything
Either snapped, or cut, or never fastened yet
The cords that bind to the thrumming common heart
Like a jazz family, when it's time for your part
Away you go, thundering drums, mournful clarinet
Life exhaling through your lilting trumpet
Stave off burning with drink my dull fear
Of devising the charade that passes for living
Daily boiling with rage at the torturous here
Blanching at peace and childish forgiving
And renewing the bacchanal year upon year
I scrunch up the paper and throw down the glass
I curse the shadow blotted up my wall
The yoke not lifted, conflagrations not passed
Wrenched tight in the incessant westward trawl
To the world's edge, scream, at last, then fall.
@nepion_boreas17
