July 3, 2008

Every day
I kill myself
and die just
a little bit more.
I need
to set the soul inside me
free to find another host.
I have polluted it
with fear and vanity,
lies and regret,
and
hatred.
Hatred.
All that lives here now
is fear.
Every face
my eyes come to rest on
walking through the city
is messenger of dread.
In the car
moving through the
sunset streets
I see endless accidents
and the dumb surprise
of random loss.
On the porch
I hear the unhinged wailing
of mothers who find
their children bloated
and dead.
In the vaulted dome
of my head
an endless
canticle of doom
swirls a monophony
of the anguished
and profane.
In my sleep
the ringing in my ears
is a saw
eviscerating
the body of my memory.
All that lives here now
is fear.