Pink blossom drifts pile up along
The inner roadsides, lit, lining
By iridescence guiding, fuzzy, like
Tongues kept on leaking batteries,
The mad scene is set.
Knelt down beside the depthless pool,
Dipping in fingers, a whole hand,
Disturbing the laudanum bloody waters
With lazy gliding motions, don’t falter
As the scene darkens.
Shallow cuts made in strange flesh
Harken to memories of other days
Where we kept better vigil, alone
In the dark, shrieking for morphine,
Wishing for blossoms.