I set fire to your image,
A simpering candle
Dissolving into sebaceous rain.
I slip into a ragged cape
Woven with the ghosts
Of our conjoined blood.
Arms palpitant in a blind wind,
I head off for your grave,
The rupture in our mission,
The rapacious hills of the dead.
Will I subsist in your absence,
In the cradle of my ineptitude?
Will the smoke darken
On reaching your immobile grin
A reaper to upend you in
The forgetful tides of the river Styx.
Life is not so simple
It happens with or without
In the blink of an eye,
In the midst of bone-stripping fire.
It stops for no man whatever his value.
I pray and preach to an empty choir.
How your death sickens me,
Whittles away every vestige
Of my salvation and humanity.
Well I managed mysteriously to get a poem in!