senseless,
spiritless
coffee
in an otherwise fancy cafe
but i gulp down the senselessness
anyway
at 5:36
on Black Saturday.
outside
Jesus has died
and solitude
and sun eternally at 4 o'clock
are gods i must worship.
and i walk through the glass door
flimsy as ghost's hair.
and float through streets
devoid of
anything and
nothing
while the wind howls
the day's anthem:
remnants
of a Poe, or Plath poem
accompaniment to
an endless slide
down a vortex
of empty tin cans
and candles,
burning me
cutting me
into
a
numbness.
