To be breathing
awake and feeling
in small seconds
of unending infinite
mechanical mornings.

muttering step-step
dragging dead dreams
through shrill-ringing
alarms and siren-shouts
life-lost but still living.

we wake in gentle light
dawn-struck dealing
daring to open life-worn
eyes and see for truth
the world we’ve been


“The Lost Souls Clamber”

All the lost souls clamber,
begging to cross the river
and forget all the lives
they’ve known and lived
since the dawn of time.

Some say our world-entering
was more a dusk than dawn
and on nights like these
where everything tastes wrong
i’m inclined to agree.

Sometimes we have to pay
to ride the Styx home,
and what other chance do we have
to forget all these fucking scars
and all the loves that caused them?