When the blanket is tucked,
And all is warm
in red indignation,
My skin will shred,
Falling to the rain
beat hissing as it bombs.

The inner holes we knew,
with intimate denial,
Magnified
a million fold unto the world,
Diuretic tattooed hearts,
Leeching ink oceans
in vast clouded spires.

Time stood still,
Fixed by lack of change,
In the wasteland beyond panic,
The only crickets metal
scrapping on the wind.

When death's blessing ceases,
I will still be there,
Here,
Tracing rust and flesh
married in the asphalt.

The last will fall,
A noise of no consequence.

In the winter of my life,
My self lost miles ago,
There will be a half
rotted skull
eyes
hazel blood-shot blind.

Cancer keeps alive,
rounding the bulbs,
puss as boots to purify
the pain to a singularity.

In a mindless daze I will
hit something,
and hear,
and see one
memory.

Dark beams bow beneath
your face,
Smiling despite the
hidden horror house.

The holocaust innocence.

I will slosh my bulk,
Thrust high to see the sun,
Held before
I am gone.

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