I shall write of you no more.
But so alone...

We drank a toast on our wedding night,
yours pierced with cyandide...

There is no time
to lighten my fail-fate...

I am the stream,
tripping down the trail...

That pale morning in the mud,
we crowded round a chasm...

I sink beneath the sheets
and they are pressed...

Holy truth of humankind does not exist.
For I could tell a thousand wretched stories...

‘There is no God but God’,
the prophets said...

Lay your whirling head right down
with knees and hands...

I pear beyond the bindings
of my maze-like sleuth...

Be this then a deed without a name,
and eclipse me in pitying clouds of shame...

wordless
worthless...