In the moist clutch of a taciturn termagant,
The mural man writhes in a cold pond of silence –
Immersed in mar and
Unrepentant of sins committed in dreams.
Serenely chronic endearments graze the floor;
A corpse
And a lacuna of wartime eyes
Panting paranoiac affirmations of truths –
Truths clogged in the dry-rot of a room.
The wind confides their secrets to the traffic;
Glass beads and tears shipped along eye-shores –
Eyes that could not feed a prisoner’s thirst,
Yet,
Love was felt an institute of repugnance;
Execrable excuses treading their bed-post –
Imbecile hearts poisoned by fires of felicities;
And other penalties of love’s unconscious conquest.
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