of dawn
at midnight,
a sharp breath
of clarity
born.
I dream of nothing
but blackouts
and madness,
she is the promise
of morning
come dawn.
--
She is a figment
of my
exhausted pointless,
the last filament
of desperation's
hope
with daydreams of nothing
but delirium's
coitus,
disappearing
into shit storms
of shimmering sleet.
Damaged
down South Street's
filthy drifts devoid,
she is gone.
Leaving nothing behind
but the frozen muddy.
