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He listens to fountains of desiccated tears in the desert of his mind

	Tastes echoes of vacant sounds from the soul of dissonant void

Disintegrated unison reaches out to his blind visons' flashing blisters

	He smells feelings of decay pumping in heart failure’s congestion


The hallowed devil dances in Valhalla and consecrates cacophony

	Until the clock strikes midnight in the no man’s land of no return

Blinded by detection deafened in awareness he retreats into his shell

	Returns to the safety of shibboleth’s indecisive loneliness


With what remains of distant passion he gathers cinder’s fragments

	Strikes a match from heaven and listens to the wood worms crackling

The ‘bonne’ fire raises his spirits in a fluent synthesis of emulated immolation
 
	Finally he throws caution to the flames and feels the heat again 


02nd June 2019

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