a poet's consolation

decomposed with brutal force
floating on without remorse
on sips of hope that sank like boats
in seas cried out from thirsty throats
pale but lavish, tuned but hoarse

streetwise loafing light asleep
safely tucked in midnight's deep
pocket, mumbling: an evening reflected
in gaping time is a morning erected
or a set we've sown, a dawn we reap

reached and grabbed a glistening sword
clasped and clung and crowned it lord
a jester's gesture, then a bow
of foolish defence, raised and now
when pain pulls down, heart broken floored

i'm bleeding like a tired eye
lashed with cursive curves that fly
from here - in space and unstalled time -
to exile and its causing crime
became my dream, my wake a lie