Pale Saint
howling harboured woe
to the pale saint in the sky
rounded radiance buoyant
whereas circularity
on ground
exists in crueler cycles
thought i’d be
different this time
missed calls forsaken
each step in front of the last
each new hand shaken
sternward stood
winking tauntingly
the dismal mind
the dimmed heart
the detached body
wearing a different coat
wearing a different scarf
with bigger bones this time
but always the same
sickness curling
around the spine
torching the skin
stiff and supine
howling harboured woe
to the pale saint in the sky
awaiting the echo shooting blanks
but a warm gun is still warm
furtive glances
into the looking glass
only to see
a charlatan in sheepskin
wanting to be more
twilight vagrant
imposter from stockholm
fanged skeptic snarling
at the hand outstretched
i am the doppelgänger
of doubt and desire
roulette of mannerisms
none to admire
pocket-change bets
small securities
turned small risks
this is the tailspin
making my head spin
sleeping on my fingertips
is what i am
dream of thoughtful wasting
and watching without tasting
and of misery wearing
its best dress
tonight
