bug guts and black raspberries
smeared on the windshield of
satirical passion

i have no eyes
to see tonight
wounded
in an unknown show
i feel like a man mapped
to a crippled philosophy
waiting to die

damn this
end of summer blues

the wine has granted me
no clarity
and i feel like
this keyboard
is a diluted stranger

speculation and entropy
follow
structure and function
embrace the complexity
of the abyss

you only have
one chance
one moment
of exclamation
until
the clock signals
an imminent departure
of soulful hibernation

we are all just
stereotypes
in a wonderland
of imitation

i know that tomorrow will bring
repeated delusions
so i must try
for one last
typographical orgasm
as the midnight sky
closes in
with a flirtation
of negative narration
leading to a
durable dictation
of the stillness to come