Hope goes forth in a lily-white dress
comes back crimson
sodden and dashed
this nightmare of my making
keeps Death and his friends waiting.
where do I go, where do I exist?
Is this a world, or a faulty paradigm?
Impossible to escape from
impossible to rhyme.
There is no sentence for
the sin of drudgery
only flickering lamps
and unmetered verses.
I am bound to my nebulous design
an impertinent slave to
my violent pleasures
and my indecent sacrifice.
So much, so soon
lost on purpose.
