(...the consequences of becoming nocturnal & the rhythm of headache echoes...)
Sithwards in mourning
the fragments gather
in all honest, most freight
of fettered words, the stand-back
moving the lilac sky
in all smoke and other smells
of ethereal peat and parking meters
such numbers as sweetness
would ring the bell like sparkling
to scratch the gravel
in bumps upon skinnish silk
all dappled pinks still flushed
and spiked with light
and lime-soured gin
the fairies come in original sin
and this the last cigarette
eked out an emotion
ingredient
for the summer potion
loved by all, the randomness of things
in rhythm of
night-walked sorrow so
narrowed by sharp dark shadows
and concrete walls such birth
of a cold remainder
each day
coming for more of the same
and cars
make out their absinthe stares
as if to signal
they were never there
clanging in the homeward slink
of lost epiphanies, the gatherings
to such phials of regret
cracked fast on the paving
to see the people leaving
the music spilling
and everything a flashing amber
ready to be torn asunder.
mariaology 