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Stood there leaning to the city moon,
casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms
the black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque
in the serpentine sun of tragedy basked
Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass
with their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed
splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl
alone, silent warrior in a fantasy world
He cried for night / but night could not come
so, swept in the shroud of misanthropia he went away
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and fed the empty galleries
with the artifacts of the black rain
sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile
He made the footprints a part of his heart
to rouse a sacred confrontation
Stood there carving on the monument to lies
digging of the Earth, making friends with the soil
as the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighs
he disappears into her cold, icy womb
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