Grey mists, a life’s drape.
A losers querulous
brain sails wearily.
Waiting to live out its span.
Buried under swarming
coins of jade.
 
Dawn arrives and no one
receives it in their mouth.
All too sullen and kiss tied.
A tangle of old veins,
hurting without rest.
 
Another day, I watch plum rain
whiten the dead streets.
And no one is sleeping.
Each pen scratching
at the heart of life.
 
I know then, of the
harshness of hearts.
And the haunting
beauty of a maids love.
I can no more touch
your face and lips.
Or wait until my
dreams come true.
 
So I laugh and dream
among the flames.
Among the embers
of a dying sun.
And imagine a love,
floating down from
the cliffs like rain.