The Whispering of the Stars

I have traversed the lonely map Of incalculable backroom bars Where the whiskey breath of love and death Robbed me of my dreams; I have drained each beer tap Until a dust was left behind To swiftly coat the drying throat Where lodged the silent screams. In the dankest roach motels I have sprawled upon the floors, The railway lines and neon signs The company I kept; I have lived where sadness dwells And it ripped my heart in two, And it broke my bones like fossil stones Until I bowed and wept. I have been poised before the night When sheer nothing stood between, An endless chill upon this hill, Siberian winds and I; And thus frozen, frail and white, The whispering of the stars, An evaporate that cannot wait, A fleeting, wordless cry. Now that all of my mistakes Are the ghosts of my own hands, Twitch pale and gaunt and always haunt My selfish, shadowed ways; Like a living tree that breaks, By Siberian frosts exploded, The whispering of the stars, The vacuum of my days…