At the violet hour
What should I resent?
(as I) Die on empty
A feeling crept by
My sullen, sterile face
Looks thee falling
Beneath the tumbling waves
What shall I do... What shall I ever do?
Go south
Down to my words
My wounds
Would it still feed fire?
This noise-polluted amber
Stares into my gone hours,
Hours that mean years
... Mean life
Are you the heartburn-bitter one?
Could you pour my wounds on to them
Could you heal this exhausted well
A kaleidoscope of clean horizons
The awful rain glommed into my fall
What shall I do, what shall I ever do?
No winter walk
No search for...
A nebular packing cloud
A lost somewhere
Implored me
"Please... cease to exist"
Empty voices leaning
feverless as I