Strangers in their hours of darkness
Dirge of acute lonesomeness
Have they mislaid the will to wrestle awelessness?
Predators rejoin with hungry alacritous-ness
One brilliant shaft of “light” punctures their dark world
They mistake artificial light for the sun
Blinded, they eat false food titled ‘Layers of Love’
And promise not to tell
Until they die
But who interviews a poor
Old prostitute?
They paid her (or him) to die
And they still have money
You can’t take it with you
But you DO take your cyanide with you....








8 old applause
