Cranial

           
What have we done in the fair vanity of    
mockery; in factums parasitical      
Our days spent in chambers,      
Foolish hounds and straddled electric means;    
Blare and soldiers breaching our ancient walls,    
Architects unsound.    
     
We spark the elevated miserable smoke,    
children round black crumbling carousel,    
I lock the turnstile, with white maelstrom beat    
pondering how all misery ends;    
Pondering the light’s last blush and breath    
A darkness,    
not just to night.