Stood there leaning to the city moon,casting silhouettes tall to grip her white roomsthe black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masquein the serpentine sun of tragedy basked
Stood there cursing at the soul-dead masswith their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passedsplinters of a life rushing by in the whirla lone, silent warrior in a fantasy world
He cried for night / but bnight could not comeso, swept in the shroud of Misanthropiahe went awayand fed the empty gallerieswith the artifacts of the black rainsunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile
He made the footprints a part of his heartto rouse a sacred confrontation
Stood there carving on the monument to liesdigging of the earth, making friends with the soilas the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighshe disappears into her cold, icy womb.