The quiet sadness of people on the north
Echoes silently around cold grey places
Ecstasies undared tremble upon the edge of the tightly,
respectably unfulfilled
Who drink to excess in order to forget what never happened
Brave faces
Well dressed ordered minds on suicides edge
Reflected in the rainskimmed slate grey, battleship grey, hardship
grey...
And further south, and homeless,
Here I am. Globally-altered and dishevilled
Oh darling, I've done it all
An antithesis of sorts
And yet bound together and hopelessly in love
With the inevitable loss
And the end
How can we run from ourselves?
Last Modified: 27 Jul 2000