poet for the lost hourswon’t you bay me in the hour at rest, high on nighttime walks like drugs to sober my legs and soothe my mindpoet for the lost hours
in evasion of the inevitable tomorrow, remembering the time I pretended to play games against the age in oppression
now understand, below the cubist gray sky
vied white screams chase dire red metal
“I feel weak but unwounded” we play in gunfire’s blaze asking “must velocity ricochet?” “does this recall grief?” I am the martyr, against the brick walls I lean and jitter, I feel silly, but to pretend Were you there?
different days, different things I think about
--
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted... nevermore!
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--
- one
You'll quickly get hooked, it's amazing here.
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