The lonely cannot find a pillow underneath
Their lofty thoughts in the growing unrest’s hold
Rather to prowl beneath the gloaming--aimless,
The ripe unshadowed sepia moon cycles

Silver light scythes that came to cut the eye
On wanderlust walks under skies the kind
Of denim that leaves inky caresses on the thighs,
A glow that breathes heaves of dyeing over
A scattered idle elysian dust presiding

Almost, just quite, can within a reach put
Fingertips around the spider’s electric wire
Hung lazy strung cut over the endless ribboned road--
A deadman in seamless silence of newly severed tongues

A sterling rainbow cradles the paled sister of Morn’,
Who pines like the hearts of her starry-eyed children
In darkness born, and in eventide bred, they who are fed
On bright dreams of the Norm, they burn out quicker
Than meteors that rip open the belly of the night

Insomniacs’ morning bloom comes when the Eve wakes
When with each burning fall the hot wounded Sun
Throws herself to the ground, and takes in self-sacrifice
Her yearning body into the vacuum and the undead of nighttide