Poem On Sing The Sorrow

we held hands on the last night on earth.

our mouths filled with dust,

we

kissed in the fields and under trees,

screaming like dogs, bleeding dark

into the leaves.

it was empty on the edge of town

but we knew everyone

floated along the bottom of the river.

so we walked through the waste where

the road curved

into the sea and the shattered seasons lay,

and the

bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease.

In our cancer of passion

you said,

"Death is a midnight runner."

the sky had come

crashing down

like the news of an intimate suicide.

we picked up the

shards and formed them into

shapes of stars that wore like an antique

wedding dress.

the echos of the past broke the hearts of the unborn

as

the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop.

the few insects skittered away

in hopes

of a better past time.

I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom

and asked

If you would accompany me in a quick fall,

but you made

realize that my ticket wasn't good for two.

I rode alone.

you said

"The cinders are falling like snow."

there is Poetry in despair,

and we sang with

unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and

eloquence.

of blue and grey.

strange, we ran down desperate streets and

carved

our names in the flesh of the city.

the sun has stagnated

somewhere beyond the rim of

the horizon and the darkness is a mystery of

curves and lines.

still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly

outward,

and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation

scratched

into the earth like a message.