Cranial

        

What have we done in  the fair vanity of 

mockery; in factums parasitical,  

Our days spent in chambers,  

Foolish hounds and straddled electric means;

Blare and soldiers breaching our ancient walls, 

Architects unsound. 

 

We spark the elevated miserable smoke, 

children round black crumbling carousel,

I lock the turnstile, with white maelstrom beat 

pondering how all misery ends; 

Pondering the light’s last blush and breath 

A darkness,

not just to night