Counsel to the Patrons of Tragedy

"Then there was the one, Don Juan of self-delusion..."

There were pillows on which acid sounds

kept the moment.

There was sex one would call success.

Filling pockets with sand

Feel it there now

Those dirty remnants of old stone

Shattered by clockwinds.

Inability to keep each singular grain

These have already learned to accept their meaninglessness.

Voices indicating some functioning world

Are but amplications through the bloodstream.

Does one keep moving and working hard to make

Soft waves curl over the shore?

O' surely not.

Patrons of tragedy,

Sit by the window

Rest assured,

Exposure to light

Is good for you.